Читать книгу Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart - Barbara McMahon, Nikki Logan - Страница 10

DANTE became fussy. Mariella prepared a mid-morning bottle and picked up the baby. She did not want to sit in one of the wooden chairs by the large table, balancing the baby and bottle, so she wandered into the living room. She’d like to tidy this room or at least open the curtains so she could see the magnificent views.

Sitting in a wing chair, she fed Dante, softly crooning to him as he ate. Maybe the dimness worked to her advantage as Dante began to fall asleep just as he finished the bottle.

Mariella continued to hold him after he fell asleep, relishing this quiet time with just the two of them. He was a beautiful child with dark brown eyes and dark hair. Ariana would have so loved this child of hers. Would Dante resemble her when he grew older? Or his unknown father? Tears threatened every time Mariella remembered her friend and her untimely death. How could she have borne having to leave this child behind? Love expanded within her heart and she wanted to hold the moment forever.

Cristiano came into the room from outside.

“Snack time?” he asked, studying her and Dante. He sat in the chair near her.

“Mid-morning feed.” She gazed down at her sleeping baby. “I’ll put him in the stroller and go when he wakes up. I still have to follow up on some work I was doing. I appreciate your letting me use your computer. We’ll stay out of your way.”

She rose and carefully placed the baby in the carrier, covering him lightly with a soft blanket.

“You’re not in the way. Finish your work, then stay for lunch.”

Cristiano knew he was grasping at straws, but he wanted her to stay. He wanted to talk to her, watch her laugh. Her skin was flushed slightly and looked soft and warm. Her hair curled around her cheeks, down her back. The sweater showed off the feminine body that awakened a need in his he’d thought long gone. When she was nearby, he had to fight the urge to find out more about her, see what she liked and didn’t like.

And fight not to kiss her.

When he realized his thoughts had stayed on that point, he quickly looked away.

“You know that fire scared me. What if something happens to me? Who will take care of Dante?” she asked, covering the baby with a light blanket.

Cristiano’s mother had died when he was a small boy. He remembered her smile, the fragrance she wore. The almost tangible love she’d given. No one got fully used to losing a parent. Had his father felt the same as Mariella? Worried about his children should something happen to him? Yet it wasn’t the same. His father’s sister lived in Monta Correnti, for most of his childhood Cristiano’s grandfather had lived in this cottage with the rest of the family. There had always been family around. But one never got over the loss of his mother.

“My mother’s dead, too,” he said slowly.

“But not your father?”

“No, he’s doing well.” He guessed he was. Surely someone would have told him if he weren’t. Not that he’d been very receptive to overtures from his family since he’d taken up residency in the cottage. His bossy sister had made sure he knew her thoughts on that from the messages she left.

The flashbacks happened without warning. He couldn’t be around people who knew him for long—they’d see how messed up he was and cosset him so much he’d never get his life back. He had to beat this thing.

Mariella gazed at him as if expecting him to say more. He stared at her for a moment, wondering if he was finally moving on. He had handled the cottage fire. He had not had a nightmare since that night. He drew a breath, smelling the sweet scent of Mariella. It brought a yearning that grew in strength every time he was with her. Yet he could not fall for this woman.

“Are you the oldest child?”

“Yes, Isabella is a close second, incredibly bossy. Our mother died when I was a child. She took on the household work, and tried to keep us in line.” For a moment he remembered some of the happy days they’d spent at the cottage, playing at the lake, just being with family. Life had thrown curves he’d never expected when he had been a child.

“Do your brother and sister still live close by?”

“Isabella still lives in Monta Correnti, along with Valentino,” he said, smiling at the thought of his family.

“So you get to see them a lot. Must be nice. I was an only child.”

He didn’t reply. He had not seen them since they had visited him in the hospital after the bombing. His hospital stay had been lengthy and he’d missed his brother’s wedding, and his cousin Lizzie’s. Since his release from hospital Isabella called every so often trying to get him to go to family events. Mostly he let the answering machine take her call.

A lot had happened in his family over the recent months, including the startling revelation that his father had two older children by a first marriage. Cristiano still wasn’t sure what to think about that. He had not met the two men—twins who had been raised in America. It was odd to think they shared the same father.

So far he’d found excuses that didn’t raise undue suspicions. He was running out of time, however. How long could he keep his problem from his family? He wanted it to go away, wanted life back the way it had been.

He had loved this place as a child. It had been the first spot he’d thought of when wanting to retreat. His family was busy, fortunately. No one spent much time here anymore. Hiding hadn’t changed a thing. Maybe he should open curtains. He was not in a tight subway tunnel, but had a view of endless miles.

“This is a terrific room. Do you use the fireplace when it gets cold?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen.

“Of course. It’s the primary source of heat,” he said, nodding toward the large wood-burning fireplace along an outside wall. He remembered rainy days in the fall when he and his brother Valentino would spend hours in front of the fire, trucks and cars zooming around. He hadn’t seen his brother in months; he realized suddenly how much he missed him.

Cristiano followed her into the kitchen. She sat at the table and began checking her account. He crossed to the sink and leaned on the edge of the counter looking out the window over it. The view out back was opposite to the lake, to the rolling tree-covered hills that rose so high, offering peace and serenity. Dots of color presaged the coming of winter. Five months ago he had been working in Rome,

settled with his life, his friends. Now he was practically a hermit, his closest friend dead, his job on hold.

But the hills didn’t care. They remained the same year in and year out. Steadfast, secure, unchanging. It gave a longer perspective than short-time occurrence. Would he recover fully? Or was it time to begin to think of another way to earn a living? Would he return to Rome and the life he’d so enjoyed, or remain a virtual recluse cut off from friends and family?

“That was easy,” she said a few moments later.

He looked over.

“Hardly any mail. I did send a note to two clients telling them I might be another day or two getting back in touch. Tomorrow I’ll see about getting another laptop. Maybe in a shop in Monta Correnti.”

“You are dedicated. I thought you were on vacation.”

She looked at him. “I am, but I don’t consider myself any more dedicated than you going into a burning building to save lives when you’re recovering from injuries. You know I’ll be forever grateful. Keep that in your heart. Now, do you have a printer?”

“Not here, why?”

“I wanted to print out a picture of Ariana. I found one I could use. The one I brought with me burned in the fire.”

“Sorry. There’s an Internet café in Monta Correnti, near the church on the plaza. They’d have a printer.”

She shut down the computer and closed the top. “I’ll go there, then. Thanks for the use of your computer today.” She leaned back in the chair and looked at him. “So tell me, how did you get into firefighting? I think that’s one of the most dangerous lines of work anywhere—pitting your life against a raging fire,” she said.

“I like making a difference.” A ready answer. It didn’t explore the variety of reasons he chose fighting fires as compared to police work or mountain rescue. But all were similar kinds of jobs—first responders, never knowing what would await them. Challenges to be surmounted. Never boring.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling silver. Her hair shone in the sunshine pouring in through the side window.

Cristiano had a stronger urge to reach out and twirl some of those tresses around his fingers, feeling the silky softness, the heat from each warm strand. Those desires rose each time he saw her.

“Did your father want you to do something else?” she asked.

“Probably, though he never pressured any of us. My sister works with him at the family restaurant. My brother Valentino is home less than I am.”

“Is your brother Valentino Casali? The racing daredevil?” She looked surprised.

Cristiano nodded. He knew Valentino had a reputation to match his daredevil ways. For the first time he wondered if their decisions had hurt their father. He took such pride in Rosa. It was a fine restaurant, but only Isabella had followed their father’s path and worked in the family establishment.

“He got married recently, I saw that somewhere,” she said. “Not my idea of a married man.”

Cristiano shrugged. “What would be your idea of a married man?”

“Someone faithful.”

“Valentino is fiercely loyal. He would always be faithful,” Cristiano was quick to say.

“I’d also want my husband home more than he seems to be. And safe.”

“Maybe now that he has a home and wife, he’ll change. People do, you know.”

She nodded.

“Other attributes?”

She frowned in thought for a moment. “Fun to be with, able to talk and share, and I’d want a husband to want the same things I do.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about it for a while.”

“Ariana and I used to talk about our dream man. Hers turned out not to be the dream.”

“And you?”

“Haven’t met him yet. So what do you do here all day? Not working. No television I saw,” she asked.

“This and that.” He should tell her about the woodworking. Maybe later he’d take her to the shed to see.

“Did you always want to be a virtual assistant?” he asked, finding it an odd sort of job for such a bubbling personality like hers. He’d picture her surrounded by office workers, working as a team player, not in a solo job from home.

“When in university in New York, I planned to hit Madison Avenue big time. I majored in marketing—American style. But then my parents died, then Ariana. Things changed so much, I couldn’t manage that on top of watching Dante. Maybe someday.”

“I think I heard the baby,” he said, hearing a noise in the living room.

Mariella jumped to her feet and went to check on Dante. Two minutes later she came back, carrying a bubbling baby.

“He was kicking his feet and saying something. I can’t wait for him to talk.”

“I’ll start our lunch. I’ll make you some of the world’s best marinara sauce.”

“The world’s best?” she scoffed lightly.

“Hey, I challenge you to find better. It’s from the family’s restaurant. And you’ll thank your lucky stars you get to have some.”

“You made it?”

“No. My sister sends me care packages. I freeze the sauce until I’m ready to use it. It won’t take long to prepare.”

“Time enough for me to feed this little guy, then,” she said.

“Again?”

“He eats a lot, that’s why he’s growing.”

Cristiano took the sauce from the freezer, peeled off the wrapper and dropped it into a pan. Soon it began to simmer on the stove as he boiled water for pasta. He watched Mariella feed Dante while he worked. For the first time in months, he felt a touch of optimism. There was something about cooking long-familiar foods and sharing that touched that part of him that had once liked to spend time with friends. Stephano had loved the marinara sauce and every time he learned Isabella had sent some, he’d invite himself and his family over for dinner. He and the other guys at the station urged him to bring in enough for everyone.

For once the memory of his friend and the time they’d shared didn’t hurt with the searing pain of loss. It was a bittersweet memory of times that would never come again. He missed his friend and probably always would.

But life went on. Stephano had loved life so much, he would have personally come to Lake Clarissa and knocked some sense into his head if he’d known Cristiano was secluding himself like this.

Except—the flashbacks were real.

Mariella’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up. The baby had something smeared all over his face, and his pudgy hands were spreading the mess to his hair.

“What is that?”

“Some kind of oatmeal cereal. The pediatrician is having me try it. Probably tastes like paste and feels better spread around outside than eating,” she said, trying to catch Dante’s hands to wipe them. She giggled. “He’s a mess. I’m thinking this is not one of the better ideas the doctor had.”

“You think? Hey, little man, would you like some of my papa’s sauce?”

“He’s not even six months yet. Too young for big people food.”

“A taste won’t hurt.” Cristiano dipped his pinkie into the warming sauce and then carried it to the baby. Dante grabbed his hand and pulled it to his mouth. His frown of surprise had them both laughing.

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Cristiano said.

The baby had eaten and Mariella settled him on a thick blanket on the floor when Cristiano served up their lunch.

“Wow, this was definitely worth waiting for,” Mariella said after her first bite. “What makes it so great?”

“Family secret,” he said.

“Ah. I bet Rosa has a line waiting for tables every night.”

“The economy these days makes things unsettled. It does well enough, I think.” Actually, from one or two comments Isabella had made, Cristiano wondered if that was true. Maybe he should check into it. If there was a problem, he might be able to help financially; he had some money saved.

“I know people are cutting back, but good food is always relished.”

“My sister has been pestering me to talk about the situation for a while. It’s her area, not mine. Whatever she decides is fine with me.”

“Um. I just hope she decides to keep making this wonderful sauce. Does she sell it by the jar?”

He shook his head.

“She should. Maybe I can talk to her about that. She could consider an Internet mail-order business on the side. I bet folks would pay a premium. It obviously freezes well. I wonder how it could be shipped?”

“Ever the marketer?”

She nodded, but continued to look thoughtful.

“You said you went to university in New York? What was that like? Why there?”

“My dad was American, but he settled in Rome ages ago. Ever since I can remember the plan was for me to attend school there when I hit university level. After their death, it helped that New York is vastly different from Rome, so I didn’t have lots of memories to deal with at every turn. Maybe it helped with the grief, too. To have the coursework to concentrate on.”

“So now you’re back settled in Rome?” he asked.

“I’m Italian, so is Dante. There is nothing waiting for us in New York. When he’s older, I’ll take him there and show him the sights. It’s a fantastic city. But it’s not home.”

She looked up. “It was good to grow up in Rome, but I’m wondering if it might be even better to have a smaller town, where I could build a support group. A single mom will need help. I’ve lost touch with many of my friends from high school.”

And lost her best friend, he remembered.

“I couldn’t wait to move to Rome when I graduated. More vibrant, more things to do.”

“Of course. But when you got hurt, you came home. There’s a lot to be said for a country setting. Where in Rome can you get views like you have? Sitting on the patio, seeing the lake, the gorgeous hills. It’s fantastic.”

“Doesn’t offer a lot of opportunity for young people, though.”

“Ah, but that depends on what opportunities one’s looking for. I have a job, a child. My opportunities now lie in different areas than when I was single and fancy free.”

She smiled again and Cristiano was struck by her happy outlook. She seemed not to have a care in the world, though he knew differently. What was her secret to that optimistic outlook?

Not having to deal with post-traumatic stress disorder, for one thing.

“I think I’ll take the baby to the lake later. Want to come with us?” she asked.

“Will it be warm enough for him?” he asked.

“In the sunshine. I guess you’ve done it a thousand times.”

“It never gets old. The lake is beautiful all times of the year. My ankle was broken a while ago. I’m still getting it back in shape. The sooner I’m fit, the sooner I can return to work. Want to go Jet Skiing?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Sitting on the beach is enough.”