Relief rushed in. “We can make it official, draw up an agreement.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I want to.” She wanted it concrete and settled. She might own the property, but the business itself was more Lance’s than she’d wanted to admit, until his friends made his leaving a distinct possibility.
He didn’t speak, just sent his gaze across the vineyard spreading out beyond the chateau.
“Do you need to think about it?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll take the job?”
He put a hand to her waist, but didn’t answer.
Why was he being so unemotive. “I thought you’d be happy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Wha-a-t, I don’t look happy?” There was his Bronx talk again. Rico had infected him.
“I thought you’d show it. I thought you’d back me into the wall and kiss me.”
“Maybe I don’t kiss my partner.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Right.”
He released a slow breath. “I’m just trying to see it.”
“I’ll put it on paper. And I won’t interfere. You can do everything your way.”
“That’s hardly a partnership.”
She huffed. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? She straightened.
“Don’t do that.” He reached out and took her hand.
“Do what?”
“Get all stiff and rigid.”
“Well, I’m a little perplexed.”
“More like exasperated.” He smiled.
“Torqued.” She glared.
“Scary.”
She gave him a shove.
He caught her wrists. “You wanna mix it up, woman? Cuz I am more than a match for anything you can throw my way.”
She scoffed. “Until I give you what you want. Then you stand there like a mime all lost and confused.”
“Well, I am lost and confused. But it’s never stopped me before.”
“So we have a deal?” She all but hollered it.
“Oh, baby, do we have a deal.” He pressed her back against the wall.
“You must have been a serious discipline problem.”
“Still am.”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Because he was incorrigibly obstinate.
“Because there’s a limit to my control.”
“Hah. You’d control the world if someone gave it to you.”
“Not that control.”
It hit her like a hammer, almost taking out her legs.
He groaned. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ll do whatever I say.”
But she would.
They stood there long enough for her legs to solidify, then he let go of her. “Can you walk?”
She glared. “Of course.”
His mouth pulled up slowly. “Nails.” Then he released a slow breath.“Hope I can.”
Well, he could hardly have made his situation worse. Partners in the Wayfaring Inn? Managing partner, she’d said. Everything his way. He hadn’t believed she would do it. What was she thinking, handing over the business? But she wasn’t thinking. That had been perfectly clear.
He squeezed the Harley’s grips. She might have given her crew man a black eye, but she’d been sweet invitation for him against that wall. Surrender in the least likely woman. And she didn’t even see it. What am I supposed to do with that, Lord? Rese had gone from a sneering, domineering termagant to an appealing woman he respected and desired. And he had her in the palm of his hand.
Did Rico have it right? He’d watched Tony operate, helping, comforting, becoming indispensable. What woman wouldn’t want that? And what man wouldn’t realize … and use it? As he was with Rese? Lance leaned the bike around a curve; Rese leaning too, with none of her early stiffness, no resistance; she flowed in tandem with him. Exactly what he’d wanted?
He’d almost said no to her offer, told her she should think about it. She might have experience with a crew in her field, but she was awfully na¨?ve in this. So why had he said yes? Because he wanted it. For her, and for himself.
He slowed to enter the driveway and nearly hit Evvy waving her cane with a look of urgency that jerked his heart. He put the bike into a skid, wheeling around behind her. “What’s wrong, Evvy?”
“It’s Ralph. His heart.” Hers looked none too steady. “I need to get there.” Her eyes glassed with tears.
Rese climbed off. “Use the truck. I’ll get the keys.” She hurried for the house as he helped Evvy to the truck. She probably didn’t have the strength for the bike today, and Rese was thinking clearly. With Evvy between them, she drove to the care facility as he directed her and sustained Evvy.
Ralph had seemed tremulous when they visited him—warm and loving, but not altogether connected to this world anymore. Lance knew the helplessness Evvy must feel, as though the air had been sucked from her lungs and left her in a vacuum. Was it only weeks ago he’d been in a similar hospital room with Nonna, hoping and praying it wasn’t the end? He knew her time was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier saying good-bye.
The room held several brusque staff members who moved for Evvy to approach on his arm. Though she weighed next to nothing, it seemed Lance held her up by that arm alone. Ralph was awake in the bed, but didn’t seem to know her or anyone else. His face was a picture of pain, physical maybe, but psychological for sure. He didn’t know what was happening, and he was scared.
Lance seated Evvy up next to the bed, and the staff quietly dispersed. The smell this time was heavily medicinal, and he noted the IV and other monitors. As Evvy took Ralph’s hand, Lance slipped out past Rese in the doorway to gauge the situation. Since he wasn’t family, they gave him no details, but they did say Ralph’s son was on his way, if he could get a flight, and it was good that Evvy had come directly.
Taking Rese by the hand, Lance went back in and stood a short distance from the bed. Evvy spoke in low tones, explaining who she was and asking whether Ralph understood or not, and he clung to her hand. Lance had images of Nonna, pleading to be understood, to understand. He ached. Lord, have mercy.
Evvy murmured, “If you have the fight left in you, use it now, my darling man. If not, the Lord has a place prepared for you. And I’ll be there soon to share it.”
Ralph met her eyes and held them. “Evvy.” His voice was so weak, Lance was surprised to hear him at all. What he uttered next stopped the breath in Lance’s chest. It was the intimate phrase Nonno Marco had saved for Antonia, La mia vita ed il mio amore.
Lance closed his eyes as Ralph’s gaze dulled and his hand slipped from Evvy’s. This was how it ought to be: a long life, a peaceful death. But he stood, fighting tears for a man he hadn’t known, unsure why he felt the loss except that Ralph had been somehow connected and now that thread was gone. More than that, Lance tasted the bitter ash of Evvy’s grief. That was always the hardest for him, seeing someone suffer.
The monitors signaled Ralph’s departure, and someone came and turned them off. Evvy murmured, “ ‘Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his love endures forever.’ My hope is in the Lord.” Then the room was silent a long time.
Rese had not spoken a word, and he wondered if this was churning her recent loss. According to Brad, she’d checked out for a while at her dad’s traumatic death. He wasn’t sure how much she remembered even now. Maybe she shouldn’t have come, but if she was upset, it didn’t show.
He understood that better now. She wasn’t stone; she was strong. Not uncaring, guarded. Her concerns about her lack of emotions were unfounded. He saw them now that he knew what to look for. Leaning together at an angle of repose, they found a balance neither had alone.
But Ralph’s death kindled a fear that Nonna could be gone before he had the chance to bring her peace. He had to do that, but without hurting Rese. How could he bring it all together? He was trying to do God’s wil
l, but he was still giving away that Mickey Mantle card.
It was all she could do to stand there with Lance as Ralph died. There was no blood, no panic, no struggle, but it was still death. And Evvy’s words had speared her.
It was like that part in Lance’s Bible, boasting in affliction—but thanking God for love and goodness even when He’d taken someone away? There was something radical in their faith, something unnatural. You didn’t thank someone who hurt you. You might not strike back. You sure didn’t show it. But thank?
When Jake let the air out of the truck’s tires she rescheduled her bid; when Sam poured syrup in her toolbox she did not retaliate or even complain. She’d heard them calling her the Stone Goddess because she’d cleaned it up without a tirade. She endured it all, but she did not appreciate it. There was no gratitude! That would have invited scorn and humiliation, when at least she had grudging respect.
She wanted to tell Lance and Evvy how wrong they had it, but she kept going back to the moment Ralph left and sensing a difference. Maybe it was no more than the obvious; she didn’t know, didn’t love him. His death wasn’t violent and premature. But she couldn’t shake the thought that the manner of death was not the point.
Leaning into Lance’s shoulder, she closed her eyes and saw herself running, Dad falling, all the awful details. But what haunted her now was the moment he slipped away. “Be strong.”
There had been a determined look on his face, not the surrender she’d seen minutes ago. She didn’t want an eternity with Jesus or without, not when some could make a choice that others refused…. Why should death be different from one person to the next? Why should it be up to us to choose or reject what Jesus did—if He did it, if any of it was real at all.
But the room was filled with an awful peace, a finality that left her groping. If Lance was not holding her up, she’d collapse as she had that time on the scaffolding, all her strength sapped. Dad had charged her to be strong, to withstand everything life threw her way. Maybe he’d known more than she’d thought about the crew’s pranks, ignored or … encouraged it. If he thought it for her own good, had he toughened her up intentionally?
For the second time that day her legs almost went out. The day Sam and Charlie “fought,” did he see her scraped face and swollen lips? He did not want her hurt; she knew that. And he’d taken those two on his crew when they split. But he wanted her tough. Had he thought he could make her strong enough to resist Mom’s condition? Did he think strength of will honed by harassment could help her withstand disease?
Lance curled his hand around her waist, no doubt sensing her distress. The complete and total opposite of Dad. Lance let her express hurt and showed her his own. Tears filled her throat. She had made him her partner, but was that fair? He didn’t know how much she was coming to need him. Or how much she might.
CHAPTER THIRTY - FOUR
It took more strength than she had to get a cup of tea, but Lance brought her one, then crouched beside her sofa, wrists resting on his knees. Evvy glanced at Rese standing in the doorway, a little stiff and uncomfortable. Death did that. Left people without words.
But not Lance. Once he had gotten her home, he had repeated Ralph’s final phrase with reverence, told her about his grandparents and their great love and the meaning those words had for them. Some people might have hesitated to tell her a love story when she’d just lost her leading man, but he understood the temporal nature of their separation, and she appreciated that.
Evvy swallowed the lump that seemed to fill her throat. She would think of Ralph; she would cry. But it wouldn’t be much different from other days since he’d moved into the home. She’d been bedfellows with loneliness too long for any surprises there. Unfortunately, her body still went through the process. Her legs would not hold her, and the two young people had helped her to the bathroom where Rese had seen her inside.
They didn’t realize that even if she fell and broke a hip, it was only one more step toward the inevitable. She was the oldest of her gang and tired of waiting in line while others entered before her. I don’t mean to complain, Lord, but haven’t I done my time?
She often thought James had the best of it, to leave this world with all his dreams intact. But then, they’d probably been shattered by the war in a way she couldn’t begin to imagine. Hers had simply faded, just as she had faded. But there she was, giving in to melancholy. “This is the day the Lordhas made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
She reached over and patted Lance’s arm. “You’ll get a crick in your knees, my boy, and they don’t last forever.” Her voice hitched with tears.
He covered her hand with his. “What else can I get you?”
She shook her head. “Not a thing. Just take your girl home and cherish her. That house needs some joy.” The tenderness in his squeeze transferred comfort that climbed from her hand to her heart and remained. “You’re a good man, Lance Michelli. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Do I look like they might?”
She laughed. “Frankly, yes. A bit of the buccaneer about you.” He shook his head. “I keep getting that.”
She couldn’t sustain the humor. She might know in her head that a reunion was in store, but her heart had still been hollowed like a harvest pumpkin. Her lips trembled. “Go on, now. I’ll be—” The thought halted. Now? When she had so little energy for it?
But she turned to Rese. “There is but one thing that stands. Put your trust in the Lord. When all others fail, He will never fail you.”
She couldn’t tell if the words sank in. That girl could rival the sphinx. “Of course, you have to admit your need.” Something had made Rese Barrett too self-sufficient by far. Evvy sank back. She might be looking in the mirror.
Lance set a paper on the side table. “That’s my cell phone number and the inn’s. If you need anything…”
She nodded. “Michelle and others from the church will be by to check on me. Never fear. I’ll be running them off with my cane.”
Lance rose to his feet, and Rese straightened in the doorway. Did she realize what she had, that girl? But then, did anyone? As they walked out the door, she turned her thoughts heavenward. “Whatever it is you intend for me, you’d best be about it. Or I just might show up unexpectedly.”
Not that anything could surprise the author and finisher of not only her faith, but every detail of her existence. As the tears came, she hungered for the joy Ralph knew, the vigor with which he would embrace heaven, and the awe he would find before the throne.
Lance pressed the trowel into the dirt, thankful for a few moments alone. He’d smoothed things over with Rico yesterday, not accepting his suspicions about Tony, but admitting his own attempts to measure up. They had needed to explode, maybe, to find a fresh balance, just as he needed to square up all the rest.
He had planned to go down and search the cellar last night to find whatever there was once and for all, but Rese was sleepless again, and they had talked long into the morning hours. She was serious about him managing the inn, but she had good instincts about advertising and community awareness.
She was used to word-of-mouth promoting, and her previous profession had been almost exclusively referrals. He liked her belief in doing something so well people couldn’t help but talk about it. His being her key to doing the inn well had him a little concerned. Sure, he had the ability, but was that his purpose?
Lance shook his head. God had directed him more clearly to this point than ever before. If it was muddled now, he’d done it. But what could he have done differently? He couldn’t let Rese face her crisis alone. Jesus wouldn’t have abandoned her to pursue His own agenda. The caring that came was out of his control. He could no more stop feeling than breathing.
But he hadn’t had to act on it. He hadn’t needed to show her how he felt; he’d wanted to. He’d wanted her to need him, wanted her to want him. She’d been the biggest challenge yet, hard and sufficient, caustic and dominating. But he’d won her over.
>
He’d been willing to take advantage of the situation, to get what he needed for Nonna. He would even have left Rese without help, if he’d found his answers right away. But something in her had called to him, something he couldn’t ignore. And the more he let her into his heart, the less certain his purpose became.
He had wondered if he’d find someone who could still the restlessness. Tony had married Gina at twenty-two. Monica and Lucy were younger than that. Sophie—well things hadn’t worked out too well for Sophie in the marriage department. Not that he was looking to marry Rese—his hand slipped from the trowel into the dirt.
Partners, sure. He had control of the inn, the property that had been Nonna’s. They had drafted their agreement last night, and Rese had faxed it to her attorney. But marriage? He was not sure he could ever pull that off. It took someone like Tony, who always got things right. Someone who knew his place in the world, not a wandering gypsy looking for meaning in every face he helped.
The gravel ground on the driveway under the wheels of Star’s yellow Volkswagen, back from wherever she’d been since their Chinese dinner. He stood the trowel in the front bed he was planting with verbena and sat back on his heels as she climbed out. “Hey, Star.”
She was not the same girl who had presented his painting the other night. Her eyes were too bright, her fingers trembling as she closed her car door and approached, wearing a white, gauzy dress falling in layers that ended at her knees. The bruise on the side of her neck could mean a lot of things, but he wasn’t naïve enough to assume most of them. As she squatted next to him and breathed in the scent of the flowers, he noted the fine blue veining through the brown and reddened skin and the finger marks on the other side.
“What happened?”
“Does it show?” She had to know it did, and she could have hidden it with a scarf if she didn’t want him to notice. “Rese’ll kill me.”
“She’s less homicidal than she used to be.” And whoever had bruised Star seemed the more likely candidate. Her hair smelled musty and hadn’t been brushed in a while. “Who hurt you?”
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