“Protects you from debris.” He wore his own soft black one.
This was crazy. She put on the jacket, and then Lance was helping her onto the seat. What was she doing?
He climbed on in front and raised her feet to the pegs, bringing her knees against his hips, and said, “Hold on.”
She put her hands on his shoulders as he started the bike with a roar of barely muffled machinery. A whiff of exhaust stung her nostrils as they went down the driveway and onto the street, Baxter barking his disappointment at being left behind. Lance drove sensibly through town out to the Petaluma highway. How far was he planning to take her?
She tapped his shoulder. “Where are we going?” She had to holler over the bike’s engine.
“You’ll see.”
She did not like surprises, but he enjoyed his secrets. Hers, he coaxed out with ease until he knew everything there was to know. Even Mom. Even Walter. A seeping dread crept in that Lance could use that knowledge against her. And it was her fault.
They wound through grassy hills dotted with cattle and occasional vineyards, like quilts spread out to dry. It wasn’t the main vineyard road with the gates that invited tourists to view and taste. These fields were mostly natural countryside, and she wished she could enjoy it.
The air smelled of yellow blooms and earth and Lance. A ground squirrel darted toward the edge of the road and back into the grass. The sky blushed with the sinking sun. Vines of a lone vineyard rushed up to meet the fence with dark gnarly trunks in a froth of green, then pale green-gold grass took over again.
Rese felt the road as she never had in the truck. She was vulnerable, even with a helmet. Lance was smooth and sure, but she was completely without control; not a position she accepted well. Peachy clouds stretched through the sky, and shadows sprang long and thin in the westerly light. But the beauty of the evening could not ease her agitation.
When Lance pulled off at the top of a hill, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or more concerned than before. The answer came when he took her helmet, then removed a bottle of wine and a bag of something edible, she guessed, from the bike’s compartment. He meant to share a meal outside the context of the inn.
Striding to the wire fence, he stepped on the bottom and held up the middle.
She looked at the gap. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go in there. It’s private property.” Not that rules or limits meant much to Lance Michelli.
“It’s just to keep the cows in. I doubt they’ll mind us having a picnic.” She ducked through the fence and took in the scatter of amber cows grazing far up a scrubby hill. Cattails and broad leafy reeds marked a moist depression. The grass whispered softly in the breeze.
Lance headed for the single twisted oak a short way inside the fence. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. She was generating enough body heat to ignite the field.
“Then we should sit on the jackets. I don’t have a blanket.”
They should keep the jackets on and ride back to the house where she had a semblance of control. But he had taken the items from the bag; strawberries, pepper jack with a little cheese knife, a package of sesame flatbread, and plastic goblets for the wine.
She would have forgotten the knife and goblets. And the corkscrew. But he’d covered all the details. She sat down as he opened the wine and filled the goblets. She took the one he handed her, but when he raised his to toast, she said, “Lance.”
He touched her glass with his. “To sharing the journey.”
“This feels like a date, and I told you—”
“Can I say the grace now?”
She looked down at the food. “Yes, fine, and then—”
“Bless us, O Lord…”
His words washed over hers, words to a being no one could see, but who could find an open heart. Her heart felt anything but open. “We need to talk.”
“Over food? Rese, you astound me.” He broke a thin, crispy flatbread and laid a sliver of cheese on it. Handing it to her, he said, “Eat.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“All right, but the flavor escapes in the air.” She took the food, but didn’t eat.
“You’ll like it.” He nudged her hand nearer her mouth.
“I don’t like it. You’re—”
“I meant the cheese.”
“I told you I don’t date my employees.” Her voice sounded tight and hard.
“So it’s not a date. You’re hungry; I’m hungry. Let’s eat.” He bit into his cracker and cheese.
When she didn’t join him, he frowned. “What is it with you? Is everything a contest? Fine, you win.”
“This isn’t about winning. If we don’t maintain a professional distance—”
“What? What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I could fire you.”
“You can’t fire me; I’m on your Web site.” He sprawled out and sipped his wine.
“Did you ask if I wanted to be here with you? No. Do you listen to anything I say? No. Even the thickheaded thugs, as you put it, knew who was in charge.”
“What about Star?”
Rese rested her flatbread on her knee. “What about her?”
“I don’t see you ordering her around.”
“I didn’t hire her.” And Star was unmanageable anyway.
“I thought she was the maid. Oh, and the waitress.”
“It’s not the same.”
He hunched forward. “Of course not. She’s not a man.”
“That has nothing—”
“Oh, come on, Rese. It has everything to do with it. You’re so threatened—”
“I am threatened?” She crushed the flatbread in her fist. “You’re the one playing hot macho lover and backing me into doorjambs and dragging me off on your bike when—”
“Dragging you?” His face darkened dangerously. He tossed the wine from his goblet and hers, corked the bottle, and scooped the rest of the things into the bag. Rese snatched up her jacket as Lance went through the fence without stopping to hold it. She should have known he would take it personally, miss the message in a fit of temper.
She hadn’t expected him to trigger hers. But threatened ? The day she was threatened by Lance Michelli … She climbed through the fence and met him at the motorcycle, wishing with everything in her they didn’t still have the drive back. But she pulled on her helmet with a stony glare and climbed on behind him.
She held gingerly to his shoulders as the bike roared beneath her, then gripped hard when acceleration tugged her backward. She clung to his leather jacket as he furiously claimed the road, the wind from his speed buffeting them, then gripped his waist hard as they leaned at an angle that felt parallel to the ground. “Stop it, Lance!” But he couldn’t hear her, and he didn’t care. He was one screaming emotion.
It was pure spite and defiance, and she clung, terrified. She would fire him the minute they got back, and the words filled her mind with comforting rage as they covered the miles to the villa, though she wasn’t sure she could stand when he skidded to a stop in the yard. She let go with a jerk, ready to tell him—
Star came flying out the door. “We’re in business!” She waved a paper over her head. “I took our first reservation.”
Rese stared at her. A reservation already? The first day of the Web site?
Lance kicked down the stand, climbed off, and walked away. With Star standing there, gaping, Rese was not going to do any less. She stood up, legs shaking, removed the helmet, and went to see the paper Star waved like a flag.
She was right. He knew it. She had told him the rules, and he’d taken the job anyway. It didn’t matter what she decided to do with Star, or how their relationship worked. Like the workers in the Lord’s parable who came the last hour but got the same pay, Star’s arrangement was none of his business. He’d gone into the job with eyes open, signed on because he wanted access to the property without telling her the whole truth. She had been upfront about her doubts from the s
tart, but he’d pushed through her arguments to get what he wanted.
Lance went into the carriage house and examined the work still to do. In the failing light he couldn’t see well. He needed light fixtures installed. He needed furniture. He … wasn’t even sure he’d be there tomorrow. Rese was spitting mad. He’d heard her hollering, driving back, and ignored it.
He leaned against the wall. He had wanted to be with her, to cheer her up, take her mind off things a little. But she hadn’t agreed to a picnic; she’d barely agreed to a drive. In typical Bronx fashion, he’d bulldozed her. That wasn’t who he was, but Rese made everything difficult, brought out the ugliest parts of him. All he wanted … was to help Nonna? Could he truthfully say that? He’d better, because tonight might be all he had.
He went to the shed for a crowbar and flashlight, but Rese had locked up her tools. He turned back to the carriage house. She might come out any moment and can him, but until then he’d do what he came for if he had to use his bare hands. With the light even dimmer inside his room, he knelt at the edge of the floor just outside the bathroom. Sorry, Quillan. With his pocketknife, he pried the first stone loose, then used his fingers to lift it.
The blocks were there, continuing under the floor. He proceeded quietly to the center of his main room and beyond, lifting more flooring than he’d wanted. He kept the stones in perfect order beside their resting places so as to replace them rightly. Near the far wall he gripped a paver and paused.
A narrow strip of dull metal was visible at the edge. Lance rubbed it with his fingers. Recessed into the floor and caked with dirt, it had gone undetected when he swept. He worked the dirt out with the knife and pressed the piece toward the stone. He felt a click. That part of the floor shifted enough to get his fingers in. He pulled and jerked until, with a squeal of wood and rusty metal, he raised the trap formed by four square pavers on a wooden frame. He gaped into the blackness below, heart hammering. Lord, is this it?
The opening was clogged with timber. Lance sat back on his heels and considered that. There had been the layers of sand on the flooring, now this tangle. Someone didn’t want this cellar explored. Nonna?
Lance stretched out on his stomach and leaned over the opening. The wood pieces appeared old and unfinished, wedged in tightly. He gripped the end of one and tugged, but it didn’t budge. It was almost dark now, too dark to see what he was doing. With a crowbar and enough light, he could remove and dispose of the wood, but the shed was locked and Rese might fire him before he had another chance.
Why had he pushed her? He hung over the edge frustrated. He’d found something promising and wouldn’t have the chance to figure it out. Should he make his peace? Lord? For his purpose, he could grovel. Or was it that he wanted to make it right anyway? Not that she’d listen. It was remarkable she hadn’t come breathing fire already.
He got onto his knees. First things first. He swung the hatch shut and heard it click, the metal edge fitting back along the stone. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and surveyed the floor. Now that he had found it, the trap device jumped out at him. He scooped some dirt from beneath the other stones into the narrow slit. Better, if not perfect. What if Rese noticed it when she trimmed the wall along the floor?
There he was thinking as though they’d continue their efforts. Well, she might continue without him. In fact she’d said as much. She could rent the carriage house for two-fifty a night—with breakfast. And that was his shred of hope. She still needed his meals. She had put them on the Web site. And now they had a reservation. She had a reservation.
He had to stop thinking in terms of they. Rese had made that more than clear. He’d apologize if that’s what it took. He supposed he owed her one after that ride back. What had he been thinking? He’d lost sight of his reason for being there and started believing the role. He’d imagined himself making a go of the place that might have been his if tragedy hadn’t changed Nonna’s course.
He expelled a breath and went inside. Star was in the front room unpacking books for the shelves Rese had built. He looked for Rese, but she wasn’t there.
Star slid a book into place and said, “She went to bed.”
Lance checked his watch. Just after nine. That was early for her, but she was probably planning his departure. She’d sleep well on that thought, or be up all night with a power tool. Either way, come morning, he’d face the music. He glanced toward the kitchen through which he’d find her if he wanted to. But he would have to pass the sacrosanct door, and that wouldn’t be a good way to begin his abjection.
He was dying to get down into the cellar and check it out, but without tools that was out of his hands. He went upstairs and called home. Needing the grounding of family? Or a safe place to lick his wounds.
“Mom?”
“What kind of trouble are you in?”
He sat down on the bed. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”
“You call at midnight, you’re in trouble.”
He looked at his watch. He’d forgotten the time difference. “I’m fine. I just wanted to know how things are going. How’s Nonna?”
“Some days better than others.”
“Is she talking yet?”
“Constantly. Only no one can understand her. She tries too hard.”
“You and Pop okay?”
“Why don’t you come home?”
“I have something important to do.” If she wasn’t half asleep she’d pursue that. Instead she murmured a prayer. Some of his important things hadn’t turned out so well.
“Rico was here.” Ricardo, the ever hopeful, recruiting the troops. “He has a new agent. He’s going to call you.”
“He already did. Bye, Mom. Get some sleep.” The call had only rekindled old issues. Looking back wasn’t going to help him out of this one. He took up his guitar and picked out a melody for lyrics he’d write if he’d added yet another screw-up to his name.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thunder crashing.
Silence rent.
A rage of nature unleashed.
And oh, the sad and sorry grapes crushed before their time.
Rese went to the kitchen in the morning. There were two plates on the table with puffy, bowl-shaped pastries filled with something creamy and topped with raspberries dusted with powdered sugar. No sign of Lance, but Star sat behind one pastry, breathing the aroma with a sigh. “You have to admit the man can cook.”
Bribery, that’s what it was. “Where is he?”
“He said if you wanted his head, he’d be in the garden. But you’re supposed to eat first.”
There he was giving orders again. She started for the door, then glanced once more at the pastry. No point wasting it. It wouldn’t sway her. She sat down with Star. Neither of them said a blessing. She cut into the pastry. Lance wasn’t there to notice her reaction, to expect anything from her. She could eat it in peace.
It was fabulous, of course. His best effort yet, except for the lasagna. She ate silently, disinclined to discuss the situation with Star. She wouldn’t understand anyway. The pastry was so large, Rese couldn’t finish it, but thinking it might be the last of its kind, she hated to waste it. “I doubt this will keep very well.”
“I’ll eat it.”
Rese slid it over to Star. Shaped like a preteen, Star ate as though she might never eat again, except on her down days when she didn’t eat at all. But that had nothing to do with the thoughts roiling in Rese’s mind. There was no putting it off. She drew a long breath and made for the door.
“Rese.”
She turned. “Don’t say it, Star. It’s hard enough as it is.” If she even began to harbor doubts, too many feelings would get in her way.
“He’s really nice.”
Nice didn’t make up for reckless, spiteful, and defiant. If she let it go it would escalate; she knew that from experience. Show weakness once, and become a target for every kind of defiance. She had to be steel.
Closing her eyes, she turned the knob and wen
t out. Lance stopped digging and leaned on the shovel as she approached. He expected what she had to say; she could see it in his face. He knew it was coming, and probably that he deserved it. But suddenly she didn’t want to say it.
She clenched her hands. Feelings had no part in this. Let him think her without emotion. She tried to retrieve the fury of last night’s drive, the way he’d terrorized her. Completely out of line. Way over the edge. Instead she heard the words of his song and saw the boy still looking for himself. Stop it!
His impulsiveness had gotten him arrested. His cop brother had told him to use his head, but he obviously hadn’t learned. He still acted and reacted strictly from his gut. She could not trust him. He read the resolve in her face and tightened up. She had expected a preemptive argument. Unfortunately, this time he waited for her to speak. “Lance…” Just say it. You’re fired. Two words. Say them.
He gripped the shovel handle. “It won’t happen again.”
She looked into his face. “What won’t?”
“Any of it.”
She expelled a short breath. “What specifically?”
He spread his hand. “Strictly business. You’re in charge.”
He finally got it? If he respected her authority, stopped making things personal…. His earnestness seemed forced, but he had said the right thing.
She looked from him to the carriage house. As she’d lain awake last night, she had made plans for it. Trim it out, furnish, photograph, add it to the page. She’d get a good rate. More than she’d pay a cook to bake muffins. She could still taste the pastry, custard, and berries. Steel. She had to be—
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” His voice was low and controlled.
She turned back, flushed with fresh annoyance. “I wasn’t scared. It was stupid, that’s all. I don’t allow stupid. Not where safety is concerned.”
“I had it under control.”
It hadn’t felt that way to her. “I’m sure you think so. But your behavior showed otherwise.”
Secrets Page 20