Suddenly very suspicious, Maggie stopped. “That’s somebody’s house.”
He turned and looked at her, grinning that bad-boy grin again. “God, but you’re quick.”
Stiffening her knees, Maggie tried to pull back, literally digging in her heels. “I don’t like the look of this, Parnelli,” she said, her tone wary.
“Sure you do,” he said, giving her another tug, obviously amused by her mutinous behavior. “You just don’t know it yet.”
She tried to break his hold with her free hand, but he just kept walking, towing her along behind him on the lush grass as if she were on skis.
“Tony,” she wailed, still trying to break his grasp, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“Don’t be a big baby. We’re just going to have dinner with my folks.”
“They won’t be expecting company.” She nearly fell flat on her face when her skidding feet hit the sidewalk, and she grabbed on to his T-shirt to keep from falling.
Tony kept on walking, and she stumbled along behind him. “Yes, they are. I called them from Banff.”
Planting her feet, she stopped dead in her tracks. “You did what?”
Still holding her wrist, he turned and looked at her, and she knew he was laughing at her behind those damned sunglasses. “I called them from Banff.”
She didn’t believe him for a minute. She lifted her chin. “When?”
He grinned. “When you went to the bathroom.”
She stared at him, still not sure if she should believe him or not. “You did not.”
“Yes, I did.” He gave her another tug and started walking. “Come on, Burrows. Don’t be such a chicken.”
She was so stunned that she followed along behind him, at least until he stopped at the wide, wrought-iron trellis set in the neatly trimmed caragana hedge. Then she tried to resist again. Dropping back beside her, he hooked his arm around her neck, drawing her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s not a big deal.”
It was then that Maggie caught sight of the driveway on the other side of the hedge, and her stomach dropped to her shoes as she stumbled again. Cars. Lots of cars. She tried to correlate the number of vehicles to the number of people who must have arrived in them.
Putting two and two together, Maggie closed her eyes, an entire flock of butterflies taking off in her middle. It wasn’t just Mom and Pop. It was the whole damned family.
Her stomach a mess of nerves, she tried to use some downto-earth logic to put things in perspective. He’d taken her for a fabulous bike ride, and now he was inviting her to his parents’ home for a spaghetti dinner. It wasn’t a big deal. If it had been anyone else but Tony Parnelli, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. That’s what her head said. Her insides were saying something else altogether.
The helmets and jacket still grasped in his hand, Tony lifted the latch on the gate just as a gust of wind caught in the bower of climbing honeysuckle overhead, sending a shower of delicate blossoms down on them.
The yard was a gardener’s dream, filled with flowers and blossoming shrubs. A wide flagstone walk curved around a stand of clump birch and blue spruce, then made another curve around a bed of junipers. It was enough to take her breath away.
“This,” she said, her voice soft with awe, “is absolutely beautiful.”
His arm around her shoulders, Tony glanced down at her. “If you think this is something, wait until you see the back.” He held up his hand to protect her from a low-hanging bough, then gave a soft, reminiscent laugh. “I’m afraid we didn’t appreciate it much when we were kids. My mother used to put us to work out here every weekend in the summer, and we’d fight like hell over who had to do what.” He grinned and gave her shoulders a reproving little squeeze. “But I can tell the difference between gladioli and gardenias, Burrows.”
Restraining her amusement, Maggie narrowed her eyes at him in a quelling look, trying to ignore the flip-flopping sensation in her middle. Lord, but she wished she knew what was going on in his head.
They reached another wrought-iron trellis and gate, this one leading into the backyard. Tony withdrew his arm from around her shoulders and took her by the hand. He looked at her, his expression suddenly serious, then gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice low and husky.
Suddenly feeling as if she had too much air trapped in her chest, Maggie gripped his hand back, unable to look away, her throat abruptly cramping with a rush of emotion. It was magic. The whole day was nothing but magic. But she had to keep reminding herself that magic was temporary.
As if reading her mind, he gave her a small smile, then squeezed her hand again. “Come on,” he said, looking away. “I want you to meet my family.”
Experiencing a rush of uncertainty, Maggie tightened her hold on his hand and took a deep breath. She felt as if she was fifteen and on her first date.
Chapter 6
There had to be twenty people in the backyard. And they all started shouting catcalls when they saw Tony and Maggie.
“Eh, Antonio. What’s the matter? Can’t you tell time? Don’t you know your way home yet?”
Tossing the helmets and jacket on the grass, Tony grinned and made an obscene gesture with his fist. “Hey, I told Ma we’d be here by three. It’s three.”
Someone said something in Italian, and everybody laughed. A petite, plump woman with silver streaks in her dark hair set down a pitcher she was carrying and came toward them. “Be nice. Don’t pick on your brother.” She smiled and stretched both arms, her gaze warm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come,” she said taking Maggie’s face between her hands and kissing her on both cheeks. “Welcome, Maggie Burrows.”
There was so much genuine warmth in her greeting that the wad of nerves in Maggie’s stomach suddenly let go. She gave the older woman a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Parnelli. Especially after your son sprung me on you at the last minute.”
Tony’s mother patted her cheek. “Rosa, dear. Call me Rosa.” She looked at Tony, her eyes twinkling, then patted his cheek, as well. “This son of mine. Never had any manners.”
Tony gave her a level look. “Don’t start with me, Ma. I’m not six years old anymore.”
Her eyes still twinkling, Mrs. Parnelli pinched his cheek. “‘Don’t start with me, Ma,’” she mimicked, giving his head a little shake. “That’s no way to talk to your mother, Antonio.” She smiled up at Maggie, then touched her arm. “Come. You need to meet the rest of the family.” She looked down to where Tony was holding Maggie’s hand and disconnected his grip. “For heaven’s sake, Antonio. We aren’t going to eat her.” She smiled at Maggie again. “Come and meet Tony’s brothers and sisters.”
Maggie’s head was swimming by the time they had gone the rounds: three brothers, three sisters and an assortment of nieces, nephews and spouses, twenty-three in all. Sensing that Tony was watching her, she glanced back at him. He had taken off his own black leather jacket and was slouched down in a wooden lawn chair, his legs stretched out and his hands laced across his chest, an odd half smile on his face. That smile did weird things to her insides, and she looked away, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. Lord, but she wished he would take those damned sunglasses off.
“Ah, there are the rest.” Tony’s mother took her by the arm and Maggie turned. A man was coming out of the house, guiding a tiny, withered woman who was leaning heavily on a cane. The man settled her carefully in a small wooden rocking chair in the shade, and Maggie heard him say something in Italian. The older woman shook her head and patted his hand, positioning a small string bag in her lap.
Tony’s mother touched her arm again. “Come. These are the last.”
The man turned and started toward them. His hair was totally white and he had a much stockier build, but he looked so much like Tony that Maggie wanted to laugh. Before Tony’s mother had a chance to say anything, he smiled broadly and opened his ar
ms wide. “Ah. This must be the Maggie who called the cops on my son.”
Frantically wondering when Tony had told them about that, Maggie felt herself blush, at a total loss for words. The man didn’t seem to notice. He gave her a big bear hug, then held her away from him and grinned. “But he had it coming, no?”
She started to laugh and covered her face with her free hand as Tony’s mother scolded, “Marco, you big ox. Look, now you’ve embarrassed her.”
He chuckled and ruffled Maggie’s hair. “No, No, that pink is just from the sun. Come,” he said, propelling her toward the old woman. “You must meet the guest of honor.”
Maggie cast a helpless look over her shoulder at Tony. He was still slouched in the lawn chair, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hands, and still watching her, that same half smile on his face. It was as though he was waiting to see if she would sink or swim. Narrowing her eyes at him, she made the same rude gesture behind his father’s back that he’d made earlier. He grinned at her, then lifted his bottle in a salute. She wanted to throttle him.
Drawing her arm through his, Marco Parnelli escorted Maggie over to where the other woman was seated in the shade of a huge May Day tree. She was very old, her face wrinkled with a thousands creases, her snow white hair looking as if it had just been styled. She had on a cornflower blue dress, the type Maggie’s grandmother would have worn to church, and her black oxfords had been freshly polished. She was intent on the piece of handiwork she held in her stiff gnarled, fingers. But she looked up as they approached, and Maggie was struck by the astuteness in her intent brown eyes. This woman, she thought, was nobody’s fool.
“This is my mother, cara,” he said, his voice quiet with respect. “We are celebrating her eighty-fifth birthday today.” He said something in Italian, which included Maggie’s name, and the woman looked at her, watching her with a steady stare, as if evaluating the person standing before her.
Then her eyes started to twinkle and she smiled, her wrinkled face creasing into a hundred warm and wonderful lines. She reached up to Maggie, her hands gnarled with arthritis, the skin thin and blue veined. Sensing what the old woman wanted, Maggie leaned down, her throat suddenly tight. With the slowness of the aged, the old woman kissed her on one cheek, then the other. Still gripping Maggie’s face, she leaned back and studied her again, slowly nodding her head, as if in approval. She said Tony’s name, then spoke to him in Italian, and everyone started to laugh. Patting Maggie on the cheek, the old woman gave her a conspiratorial wink, the twinkle in her eyes even brighter. “It is about time,” she whispered, her voice creaking with age, “my Antonio brings home to his family a good woman, cara.”
Maggie felt another flush creeping up her cheeks, but there was something about the twinkle in the old woman’s eyes that invited collusion. She smiled at Tony’s grandmother. “I think,” she whispered back, “that your Antonio needs more than a good woman, Grandmother.”
The old woman started to chuckle, and she grasped Maggie’s hand. “Eh, he is a bad one, that Antonio,” she said, wheezing a little from the effort. She gave Maggie’s hand another conspiratorial squeeze. “But me, I like the bad ones best.”
Maggie grinned. She knew exactly who had encouraged Tony Parnelli’s bad-boy charm.
Aware that the whole family was blatantly eavesdropping and hanging on their every word, Maggie knew she was somehow going to have to get herself out of the tight spot the old woman had put her in. Hoping to distract her, she touched the handiwork laying in her lap. “This is lovely.”
Grandma patted the side of her chair. “Here. You sit and I will show you.”
So Maggie sat in the grass by the old woman’s chair, watching her make the most exquisite lace Maggie had ever seen. She was fascinated by the speed at which the old woman’s crippled fingers worked, but it was the work itself that truly impressed her. She had never seen anything so delicate. Realizing Maggie’s interest was genuine, one of Tony’s sisters went into the house and came out with several completed pieces. One was a huge tablecloth, easily the most beautiful thing Maggie had ever seen. She said as much and found out Tony’s grandmother had a tiny streak of vanity in her. Looking quite smug, she told Maggie that she had been the best lace maker in her village when she was a girl. Tony’s sister winked at Maggie, amusement in her eyes. It was obvious that the old lady’s pride was a small foible the family was very well aware of.
Rosa Parnelli came over with a glass of wine for Tony’s grandmother, setting it on a small table by the old lady’s chair. Thinking of Kelly, Maggie rose, brushing off the back of her jeans. “Could I use your phone, Mrs. Parnelli? I should call home and check on my daughter.”
The other woman raised her finger in a scolding gesture. “Rosa. Mrs. Parnelli is for the butcher and baker.” She frowned suddenly. “You daughter is at home? I thought Tony said she was at swimming.”
“She was, but she should be home by now. I just want to call and tell her where I am.”
Rosa Parnelli looked scandalized. “Mother Mary, we can’t leave her alone for Sunday dinner.” She turned and yelled at Tony, who was stretched on his side on the grass, head propped on one hand, talking to a brother-in-law. “Antonio! Come here.”
He got up and came toward them. He had taken off his hacked-up sweatshirt, and the claw marks from the Captain were still very evident. Maggie wanted to squirm when she saw them. That was a day she’d be a long time forgetting.
A chain around his neck glinted in the sun, and she studied it thoughtfully. She clearly—very clearly—remembered that his chest had been naked the day the cat attacked him, and she ‘ wondered what this was. Tony didn’t seem to be the type who’d bother with jewelry. As he came closer, she experienced a funny rush in her middle when she recognized it as a small St. Christopher medal. It was the kind of thing a mother would give a son who did not always travel in safety. She wondered how many sleepless nights Rosa Parnelli had had when he was still on the force. For some reason, he was the type who invited trouble.
He looked dangerous and disreputable dressed in worn blue jeans and biker boots, with a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw and those damned sunglasses obscuring his eyes. And Maggie suddenly pictured him as an undercover cop, working the streets. Lethal was the first word that popped into her mind.
“What do you want, Ma?”
Rosa Parnelli brushed some grass off his chest, and Maggie’s hands suddenly tingled. She quickly stuffed them in the pockets of her jeans.
“You go get Maggie’s daughter and bring her back here for dinner.”
Tony turned his head and looked at Maggie. He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her, and Maggie realized he had been deliberately keeping his distance. He wasn’t testing her, she thought with a start—he’d been letting her test herself. And right then, as if someone had just brought everything into sharp focus, she had another startling realization, one that really shook her. This was no friendly little game he was playing. He was deadly serious.
Feeling suddenly very nervous, she folded her arms and swallowed against the crazy flutter in her throat. He continued to watch her without a trace of expression on his face. The decision was hers. And it totally unnerved her that he understood her so well. She would never involve Kelly if this was just a one-time deal, and she knew if she said no, that would be it. But if she said yes…If she said yes…
Her heart started to pound and her mouth went dry, and common sense warred with a fierce longing. Yes. No. It was up to her.
Aware that Tony’s mother was only a foot away, she took a deep, tremulous breath and finally spoke, her voice not quite steady. “Maybe I should call her first and make sure she’s home.”
A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched, then he released the air in his lungs. “Never mind,” he said, reaching out and cupping his hand against her neck. “I want to take the bike back anyway.” He gave a squeeze, drawing his thumb across the frantic pulse point there. The intimacy of that touch made her legs go weak, and
it was all she could do to keep from tipping her head back and closing her eyes. His expression giving nothing away, he gave her neck another light squeeze, then let her go. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he said, his tone abrupt.
With that, he went over to where his shirt was lying on the grass, swept it up and pulled it over his head. Maggie abruptly turned and followed Rosa Parnelli, so shaky inside she felt as if a riot was going on in there. Lord, but she had really jumped into the deep end this time.
Maggie almost—-almost—had a grip on herself by the time Tony returned with Kelly. She was standing at the stove, one of the babies slung on her hip, stirring the spaghetti sauce and talking taxation law with Tony’s sister who owned her own boutique. She had to smile when she saw her daughter. Kelly was looking pretty wary about this, but she had put on her good khaki walking shorts and a bright yellow blouse, and her trendy new hiking boots had obviously been cleaned. Her hair was freshly braided, and she had tied it with a bow that was the same color as her blouse. Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her daughter look so coordinated.
The baby grabbed a handful of Maggie’s jersey and tried to stuff it in his mouth, then made a bid for her hair. Maggie turned her attention back to him, disengaging his chubby little fists. He was seven months old and belonged to one of Tony’s brothers, and he was such a little Parnelli—big brown eyes, long, thick lashes and a grin that was enough to melt anyone’s heart—that Maggie wanted to hug the stuffing out of him every time she looked at him.
She had no sooner disengaged his hands than he grabbed another handful of jersey and put his head to his fist, trying to get it into his mouth.
She laughed and loosened his fingers again. “You don’t want to eat that, Slugger. It’s going to taste pretty yucky.”
Rosa appeared beside her and smoothed down the wrinkles in Maggie’s top with maternal briskness. “Here, cara. Let me take the little one,” she said, lifting the baby out of Maggie’s arms. “His papa has his food ready.”
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