Читать книгу Heard It Through The Grapevine - Pamela Browning - Страница 11

Rocco was a stocky man, the beginning of a paunch swelling beneath his T-shirt. His quick introductions made Josh’s head spin: Gathered around the bocce court was a Tom, a Tim and at least two guys named Tony, all even bigger than Rocco. They eyed him with what seemed like suspicion as he removed his blazer, assessing his muscles. Rocco showed him where to hang his coat over a low-hanging branch and proceeded to explain bocce.

“My grandfather and uncles brought the game over from Italy with them, and we grew up with it,” Rocco told him.

Josh opened his mouth to say that he’d never seen a bocce ball, nor had he ever observed any games, but Rocco didn’t give him a chance to speak. The game, Rocco said, was played on a long sand court that appeared to be about ten feet wide by sixty feet long. The brightly colored bocce balls seemed slightly larger than those in the old croquet set that Josh had shared with his sister at their summer house in Maine, but no mallets were involved, so Josh assumed that bocce balls were thrown or tossed.

“Now, Josh,” Rocco told him. “You don’t have to be Italian to learn this game. Right, Collin?”

The other man, standing with a bunch of mostly male onlookers, just grinned. This, Josh decided, was not encouraging.

“Collin married into the family, but that doesn’t make him any less an Angelini,” Rocco confided. “Even though his last name is Beauchamp.”

“Of the Virginia Beauchamps,” Collin said. “Spelled the French way, pronounced Beecham.”

Josh had known some Beauchamps at his posh northeastern prep school, but mentioning that exclusive institution didn’t seem like a good idea, considering the good-natured guffaws that greeted Collin’s statement.

“The game can be played indoors or outdoors, and there can be two to four players on a team. Four balls are assigned to each team. You’ll play on my team,” Rocco said.

Tim and Tom were also on Rocco’s team. The other team consisted of the two men named Tony, someone called Angelo and an older white-haired guy named Fredo, who was treated deferentially by everyone involved.

“First, the pallino,” Fredo said, holding up a ball that was smaller than the others. There was a coin toss, and Fredo’s team won the right to throw the pallino. Fredo rolled it onto the court, where it inched to a stop a little more than halfway to the end. At that point, Josh craned his head to search for Gina and discovered that she was surrounded by a bevy of women close to her age, all of them talking and laughing. Gina was holding a baby, patting it on the back and crooning to it, and paying no attention to what was going on over here.

While Josh was looking elsewhere, Fredo rolled one of his team’s balls, to the accompaniment of shouts of encouragement from his own team and groans from Josh’s team when the second ball rolled close to the pallino.

“Kiss it, kiss it!” cried one of the Tonys, which Josh figured meant that he wanted the two balls to touch. He shot another surreptitious glance toward Gina, remembering with a pang of regret the sweet softness of her lips. He must have been crazy to turn his back on her in Scotland.

“All right,” Rocco said, interrupting his reverie by slapping a ball in Josh’s hand. “Now you.”

Josh, whose mind for the past few moments had been engaged in wistful remembrances of a heather-strewn moor, stared at him blankly.

“Go ahead. We have to bowl until one of our balls is closer to the pallino than the ball that Fredo rolled.”

Josh hefted the ball in his hand and summoned enough bravado to convince himself that this game was a piece of cake. Unfortunately, he slipped as he rolled the ball, and it landed about as far away from the others as it could without jumping the sides of the court.

“You’ll do better next time,” Rocco said before rolling another ball, which edged somewhat closer to the pallino than Josh’s.

Rocco’s team bowled until all balls had been thrown, but not without a lot of good-natured jesting. After that, it was Fredo’s turn again.

“When both sides have bowled all their balls, the side with the ball closest to the pallino gets a point. A point is also awarded for any other ball from that side that is closer to the pallino than any ball rolled by the opponents. Thus, only one team can score in a frame, and that side can get up to four points. The first team to score sixteen points wins,” Rocco told him.

Josh didn’t need long to figure out that bocce was a game of strategy. The pallino could be moved by a shot, so a player often scored by knocking the pallino closer to balls previously rolled by his team. On the other hand, a player whose team already had balls in scoring position sometimes chose to place a ball in front of the pallino to keep it from being moved.

Whenever it was Josh’s turn, he managed to goof up. If he tried to land his ball close to the pallino, it inevitably pushed the pallino the wrong way. If he wanted to keep it from hitting the pallino, it always did. He found that he couldn’t estimate how much a ball would roll from where he stood to throw it, and he tended to throw short. If he didn’t throw short, he overcorrected.

Rocco, on the other hand, was a virtuoso. “Bocce is as simple or complicated as you want to make it,” he told Josh, and then he’d proceed to blow everyone away with a cunning move.

When the game was finally over, Josh realized that he was the one who had virtually lost for Rocco’s team. Even though the others tried to gloss over his many errors, he felt bad about letting the team down.

“Don’t worry, we’re playing two out of three to win,” Rocco said by way of reassurance, which was not at all reassuring to Josh. He looked around, wishing an excuse to bail out would come to mind. But Gina had disappeared, and Mia was hanging over a bench, waiting to cheer him on.

Well, maybe this time he’d give Mia something to cheer about. He forced a halfhearted grin and girded himself for the second game.

Unfortunately, he didn’t play any better in the second game than he had in the first. The only good thing was that now he knew the rules. The third game was a disaster, though his teammates were generous in not blaming their loss on him. Still, by the time everyone dispersed, Josh felt extremely apologetic, not to mention dejected for letting the team down.

“That’s okay,” Rocco told him. “A lot of guys wouldn’t have even tried to play.”

Josh resisted the temptation to invite Rocco and company to play lacrosse. Or hockey. Or water polo, in which he excelled.

Mia jumped down from the bench and ran over. “Don’t worry, Josh,” Mia consoled him. “You’ll get better at bocce.”

“I’m not so sure,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief. He was still bummed out from his disappointing performance. He kept scanning the crowd for Gina, but he didn’t see her near the barbecue, the big doors that led to the wine cave or near the group of women she’d been standing with before.

Fredo stumped over, his white hair an aureole standing out around his head. “Come along, my boy,” he said to Josh. “I’ll show you where to clean up.” Josh followed him on a circuitous route along a well-worn grass path past the barbecue, the picnic tables and three or four kids playing with skateboards in front of the winery office.

“You know,” Fredo said as they washed up in the men’s room inside the small tasting facility, which held a bar and a few tiny tables, “it’s not the game that’s important, Joshua. It is the family, and that we play together as well as work together.”

Josh splashed water on his face. “That’s, um, good,” he said. He was surprised that Fredo was treating him as an equal, considering how everyone else deferred to him.

“My father, the first Gino Angelini, always held family to be more important than anything. This is the philosophy that we have let govern our family winery since we started it.”

“When we were in Scotland, Gina talked about her family a lot,” Josh told him. “The other women playing the game never mentioned their parents, brothers, sisters.” He hadn’t, either.

“Yes, that’s our Gina. She is named after my father and her father, too. Gino Junior was my elder brother. He died when Gina was twenty-two.” Fredo dried his hands on a paper towel and then handed one to Josh before clapping him on the shoulder. “Come, Josh. We must join the others. It is almost time for the stomping of the grapes.”

As they were making their way past the winery office, Fredo was distracted by questions from some of the children playing nearby, and Josh stepped to one side to wait for him. After a few moments, someone walked up behind him and gently put a hand on his arm. “Josh Corbett? I’m Maren, Gina’s mother.”

When he turned and looked into Maren’s face, he saw Gina’s delicate features, the same straight nose and high cheekbones. But where Gina’s eyes were dark, almost black, Maren’s were sapphire-blue, and her skin was ivory, not golden like Gina’s.

“I’m happy to meet you,” Josh said.

“And I’m glad to meet you,” Maren said, studying his face for a long moment.

“Aunt Maren, they’re pouring the grapes in the barrels,” Frankie announced as he bounded past.

“Is this the first time you’ve been to a crush?” Maren asked.

“Yes,” Josh said, scanning the group for Gina but trying not to be obvious about it. He spotted her setting food out on one of the tables, her breasts shifting gently against the gathered fabric of her blouse as she leaned over. She looked serenely at home in these surroundings, not at odds and edgy as she had in Scotland. Suddenly, she glanced his way and their eyes locked, stilling her laughter. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, sending a romantic ripple of sunlight across Gina’s lovely face. In that moment his reason for wanting to come to the Napa Valley became perfectly clear: this trip, he admitted to himself for the first time, had little to do with writing an article about the Napa Valley and less to do with Starling Industries’ search for a winery; it had everything to do with Gina.

“Come, we should go watch the grape-stomping,” Maren said, appropriating his arm and leading him away. Reluctantly, he followed.

On a platform on the far side of the barn, men were dumping grapes into a row of twelve oaken half barrels. Fredo broke away from the children and mounted the stairs, first saying a few words to the group about being glad that everyone could be at crush, and then joining Josh and Maren as an accordion band began to play boisterous music. Josh noticed Frankie standing on the sidelines, tapping his foot in time to the beat and looking for all the world as though he wished he were playing with them.

Josh’s attention was distracted when he saw Gina walking toward him, her long hair swinging around her shoulders. “Hello, Uncle Fredo,” she said.

Fredo gave Gina an affectionate hug, his weathered face crinkling into a smile. “Not only do we Angelinis know how to grow grapes, Josh, we also understand how to grow beautiful young women, each as individual as a vintage of wine.”

“Uncle Fredo,” Gina protested with a light laugh, but whatever she might have said was cut off when Mia ran up, dragging Frankie along behind her.

“They’re going to start the contest! Whose team are you on, Aunt Gina?” Mia tugged excitedly at her arm.

“I—”

“Hey,” said Fredo expansively. “Why don’t you show Josh the ropes, Gina? Be a team?”

“But—”

“Oh, I think that’s a good idea,” Frankie said seriously. “You have very big feet, Josh. That’s important because the team that squashes the most juice out of the grapes in two minutes wins.”

“Frankie!” Gina protested. “Talking about the size of someone’s feet isn’t good manners.”

“That’s okay,” Josh said quickly because of the way Frankie’s face fell as a result of this rebuke. “I know my feet are big.”

“This grape-stomping is a tiring thing,” Mia grumbled. “You have to stomp and stomp and stomp.”

“It’s time for me to be out of here,” Maren declared with a half laugh. “I have to help in the kitchen.” She hurried off toward the entrance to the wine cave, where people were bringing out food.

Gina was trying to melt into the crowd, but some of her family members pushed her forward. “Go ahead, Gina. Go on,” they said.

Rocco dragged Josh along with him to the platform. “You can’t fully experience crush unless you stomp the grapes,” Rocco insisted, and next thing Josh knew, he was rolling up his pantlegs and his shoes were being collected by one of the Tonys, to put in a secure place where they would not be spattered with grape juice.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Gina said helplessly as they faced each other in one of the grape-filled barrels, which was barely large enough for two people to stand in. “I tried to get out of it.” She was so close that he could smell the heady fragrance of her cologne over the scent of the grapes.

“I’m glad you weren’t successful,” he murmured so that no one else could hear, and she glared at him.

“Okay, wait for the sound of the bell, and then you have two minutes to demonstrate your stomping skills,” instructed the person in charge, who Josh recalled was Gina’s brother-in-law and Mia’s father, Nick. “The idea is to crush as much juice from the grapes as you can. When I ring the bell at the close of your round, we measure the juice. The team that provides the most juice wins.”

“Wins what?” Josh asked Gina in a low tone.

“A bottle of wine, what else?” she said. She had hitched her short skirt even higher so that an expanse of creamy thigh showed.

“I’d like something more than that,” Josh muttered, and Gina’s eyebrows flew sky high.

Nick, who did not hear Josh’s remark, cleared his throat. “All right, contestants. On your mark, get set, go!”

The accordions struck up a frenzied melody. Gina said through gritted teeth, “Okay, Corbett. Move.” She’d done this before; he hadn’t. But he did his best, hating the way the grapes felt as they oozed up between his toes but liking the way Gina couldn’t avoid touching him as they jumped and squished and stomped and in general threw all decorum to the wind. Mia was right; this wasn’t easy. He grew tired long before the bell rang to signal the contest’s close, and when it did, he tried a sagging maneuver in Gina’s direction in the hope of bodily contact, but she was already stepping over the side of the barrel.

A hurried consultation ensued while the grape juice from each of the twelve barrels was measured, and then Nick declared, “The winners—Rocco and Jaimie!” Jaimie, who wore a silver tongue stud and had been pointed out earlier by Rocco as one of his cousins, accepted the bottle of wine and acknowledged the applause of her relatives with an exaggerated bow.

“You came in second,” Nick said to Josh as Frankie ran up and slapped him an exuberant high-five. “Where’s Gina?”

Josh gestured toward the crowd. “She’s wandered off, I guess,” he said.

“You did okay for your first time,” Nick said. “Here are a couple of T-shirts. See that Gina gets hers, will you?”

As a new group of contestants climbed into the barrels, Josh looked down at his feet. They were purple. So were all the other previous contestants’, but they didn’t seem to care, so why should he? He scrambled down from the platform and took off in pursuit of Gina, whose ash-blond hair was highly visible near the food-laden tables. He caught up with her as she was piling barbecued ribs onto a plate.

“Here,” she said, unceremoniously shoving the plate in his direction.

“Nick said to give you this,” he said, handing her the T-shirt.

She afforded him a grudging smile as she tossed it over her arm. “Thanks, Josh. Second place isn’t bad, you know, for your first grape-stomping experience.” Her gesture encompassed the abundance of dishes on the tabletop. “Please help yourself to the food. There’s Aunt Dede’s special penne-and-artichoke salad. She’s a caterer here in the valley and my mother works for her. Also, Claire—she’s Uncle Fredo’s daughter—made her prize carrot cake, and you might want to try that.”

Josh set the plate of ribs aside momentarily so that he could roll his pantlegs down. Gina caught sight of the purple stains on the fabric.

“Uh-oh,” she said with a grimace. “I’m sorry about your pants.”

“Don’t be. It’s nothing a good dry cleaner can’t fix.” He picked up the plate and helped himself to Aunt Dede’s salad.

“Try the bruschetta,” Gina said as they moved past the layered salad, the marinated mushrooms, the artichoke pie.

“Hey, Gina, did you make your special mussels-and-tomato fettucine?” Rocco called from a table at the outskirts of the group.

“Not this time. Too busy,” she called back.

“Aw, that’s too bad. I’ll let you sit with us, but only if you promise to invite me over for it soon.”

Gina glanced up at Josh. “Do you mind hanging out with Rocco? Or have you had enough?”

Which was how Josh found himself part of another amiable family group. He met Gina’s vivacious cousin Bobbi, who said she’d served in the Peace Corps, and her husband, Stan, who owned a chain of fresh markets. He met Albert Aurelio, a salt-of-the-earth type who had married into the Angelini family and was now chief financial officer at Vineyard Oaks. When Josh’s plate was empty, he returned to the buffet table for more food and found Maren putting out bread and rolls that she’d baked herself, and later he listened with rapt attention as Gina’s cousin Carla, who was unmarried, talked animatedly about her career in public relations with the local winegrowers’ association.

“Are you the one who made the carrot cake?” he asked her. “It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“No, that was Claire. She’s over there—the tall one with the long earrings. Don’t worry,” Carla said with a laugh. “No one could get all the Angelinis straight right away. A lot of people have the same name—for instance, Big Tony and Little Tony.”

“I met them playing bocce,” Josh said, digging into the artichoke pie.

“They’re not to be confused with Anthony Ceravolo, Rocco’s dad, who married Aunt Gianna and is sometimes called Tony. And of course Aunt Gianna is not to be confused with my cousin Gina, who brought you here, and neither of them should be mistaken for Jennifer Saltieri Thompson, who for some unimaginable reason is sometimes referred to as Jeni, with a long e. Oh, and Marcy, who is Little Tony’s wife, is expecting a baby girl in a few months, and she and Little Tony say that they intend to name their new daughter, guess what? Toni.

“Of course,” she went on, “we have a Timmy and a Jimmy who are brothers. And Jaimie, naturally, doesn’t like to be mixed up with Jimmy. There’s Sophia, the grandmother of Sophie, and a Ronnie and a Donny, and Victorine, Vicki and Victor.”

“Don’t forget Fredo and Fred, Emma and Emily, Suzanne and Susan, and Mia, whose middle name is Suzanne,” chimed in an older woman, who introduced herself as Audra.

“Maren and Maureen,” contributed Carla. “Margo, Marco and Mark.”

“Thank goodness for Teresa and Angelo Bono. They named their kids Zizi and Dodie. They’ll never get mixed up with anyone else.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” said Gina. “Zizi and Dodie are only nicknames.”

Audra frowned. “What are their real names?”

“No one remembers, thank goodness,” Carla said with a laugh.

Josh grinned, and all in all, by the time dinner was over, he thought he had never met more interesting people gathered in one place in his entire life.

Night fell, and the party, with a final tired wheeze of accordions, was declared to be over by Fredo. Barbara, Nick’s wife and Gina’s sister, came over to their table and presented Josh with a Super Stomper Certificate in honor of his stomping grapes and attending his first crush. People lingered, gathering up their children, their strollers, diaper bags and wraps as they bade one another fond goodbyes. And before her parents came to carry her home to bed, Mia curled up on Josh’s lap and almost fell asleep.

“I have to leave,” Gina said to Rocco after the Sorises had departed. “I’ll need to be up early to work in the herb garden in the morning.” Others were wending their way through the big oaks to their cars, and the cleanup detail was stashing containers of food in a van marked Dede’s Catering Service.

“I should help fold the chairs,” Josh said, but when he offered, Rocco told him that it wasn’t necessary.

“We’ve got things under control, don’t we, Frankie?”

“Sure, Pop,” Frankie said with a jaunty grin. “Hey, Josh, how did you like crush?”

Amazingly, he didn’t even have to think twice; Josh immediately gave it two thumbs-up, much to Frankie’s delight.

“Now, Josh,” Rocco said in parting. “You get any extra time, drop by the house. I’ve got a bocce court in my backyard, and I’ll give you some pointers.”

As painful as the bocce experience had been, Josh thought he never wanted to see another bocce ball or court as long as he lived. But he did want to see Rocco again, so he managed a halfhearted grin. “Will do,” he said before hurrying after Gina, who was halfway to the parking lot by this time.

ONCE THEY WERE AWAY FROM everyone else, Gina was self-conscious around Josh, though she certainly felt more favorably disposed toward him since he’d made such an effort to fit in. She hadn’t expected Rocco to take to him so well, nor had she counted on her mother’s trying to make him feel welcome.

Josh didn’t say much as they put up the Galaxie’s convertible top and got in the car. He tossed his shoes in the back seat; the night had never grown as cool as expected and he was still in his bare feet. As they headed down the long Vineyard Oaks driveway toward the road, moonlight dappled the car’s long hood with shadows and cast a silvery glow ahead. Gina sneaked a glance at his aristocratic profile and suppressed a grin when she saw that he was smiling. She wasn’t quite sure why she was glad that he’d enjoyed himself tonight; whatever vengeful feelings she’d nurtured since the Mr. Moneybags show seemed to have been crushed out of her as completely as the juice from the grapes.

“Your niece is a charmer,” Josh said, apropos of nothing.

“Which one? Stacey or Mia?”

“Mia. I didn’t get too well acquainted with Stacey.”

Gina smiled. “They’re both my sister Barbara’s kids. Stacey recently became a teenager, and she likes to congregate with her cousins at family events. Mia is my godchild as well as my niece. She’s great.”

“Agreed. And Rocco is a character.”

“As well as the worst practical joker in all creation.”

“He’s the one who sent your application in for the Mr. Moneybags show, right?”

Gina nodded and braked for a curve in the road, then accelerated. “That was only one of the pranks he’s played on me. It almost rivals the occasion when he got a realistic audiotape of a train wreck and called my aunt Linda from the station at about the time that the wine train with all its sight-seers was due to arrive. He told Aunt Linda where he was, then played the tape into the phone, and she started yelling for my uncle Tony to come because she was convinced the train had jumped its track and run over Rocco in the phone booth. She was glad to hear his voice reassuring her that he was unharmed.”

“Doesn’t anyone ever get suspicious that he’s playing jokes?” Josh asked between chuckles.

“No, since Rocco’s so unfailingly clever about it. None of us will ever forget the time he borrowed the spare key to Aunt Audra and Uncle Charles’s house and took about five of our male cousins over there. When Aunt Audra and Uncle Charles came home that night, they heard what sounded like a bunch of guys laughing and showering in their tiny bathroom. They didn’t know whether to call the police or what, but they finally recognized some of the voices and started pounding on the bathroom door. They discovered that Rocco and the guys had turned on the shower but were sitting around the bathroom fully clothed, making an unholy racket so that my aunt and uncle would think some strangers had broken in and were partying in their shower. And then there was the time—”

Josh was still smiling. “Okay, okay, I get the picture. It’s all pretty funny, by the way.”

“Not if you’re the butt of it,” Gina said emphatically.

By the time she reached the highway, Josh’s laughter had abated and he appeared pensive. They were passing the water tower at the edge of the town limits before he spoke.

“You’re lucky,” he said into the silence. “To have such a large family to care about you.”

That he would feel this way surprised her, and she certainly wouldn’t have expected him to mention it. “I know,” she said. She tried to recall what she knew about Josh’s family from the résumé that had been handed out to all contestants on the show. A mother who listed “philanthropist” as her occupation; a father who was a director of a couple of big corporations. One younger brother and a sister whose ages she couldn’t recall.

He shifted in his seat, leaning slightly toward her so that his face was more clearly lit in the light from the instrument panel. He looked somber. “My family is great, don’t get me wrong, but we’re so spread out that we seldom see one another. My father travels a lot, and my mother spends most of her time raising money for charity. My brother Jason’s business keeps him in New York. And then there’s my sister, Valerie, who married a banker from Brazil. They live in Rio de Janeiro.”

“I wouldn’t like living so far away from everyone who is important to me,” she said, trying to imagine such a thing. Not being able to drop by her mother’s apartment after Maren tried a new cake recipe, then the two of them sitting and gabbing with her sister, Barbara, while Mia and Stacey dashed in and out of the house? Not to run unexpectedly into Rocco at the market and laugh together at Frankie’s latest escapade while they waited their turns at the deli counter? Life anywhere else but Rio Robles would be flat and dull, Gina was sure of it.

Josh sighed and faced forward again. “I was afraid I’d be treated like an outsider today, but everyone was so friendly,” he said.

“Oh, that’s because Rocco took you under his wing. He may be the family clown, but we all respect his judgment.”

“If I’m in with Rocco, I’m in with the rest of the family? Including you?”

She ignored the hopeful note in his voice. “Not necessarily.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

Was he being sarcastic? She slid a stealthy look at him out of the corners of her eyes. His expression was neutral and revealed what might be a bit of regret. Okay, so it hadn’t been sarcasm. But what was it?

“Anyway, thanks for sharing your family with me,” Josh said.

The sincerity of his tone left Gina unable to think of any response other than “You’re welcome.”

“Besides,” Josh said wryly as he peered down at his feet. “I now have feet that would be the envy of Mia. Purple toes.” He tendered Gina the famously lovable Mr. Moneybags grin.

She slowed the car as they approached the pillars marking the entrance to the parking area in front of Good Thymes. The unique stone cottage nestled in a hollow in the land and was shaded by a variety of trees. Flowers spilled out of window boxes, and more flowers bordered the path leading to the red-painted and arched front door.

Gina drew the Galaxie slowly to a stop beside Josh’s car and, without looking at him, slid out of her seat. “Come on, you can wash your feet off at the garden spigot,” she said.

Josh stepped out of the car and followed her along the flagstone path bordering the cottage, looking around with interest. The stones were cool and damp beneath his bare feet, and the plants in the garden rustled in the light breeze. On the other side of the fence, they could hear the low hiss of drip irrigation in the adjoining vineyard.

“You live back here?” He gazed up at the mellow gray stone, its hard edges softened by the moonlight.

She’d bought the shop using her booty of fifty thousand dollars, the consolation prize from the TV show, as a down payment. “One of the main attractions of this building was that I could reside on the premises,” she said, gesturing toward the windows above. “My quarters are big enough, and comfortable, as well.”

As she spoke, a furry shape crashed through the underbrush and hurtled toward them. Josh yelled, but Gina staggered backward under a sudden weight. “Don’t holler so loud,” she said as she righted herself. “You’ll scare Timothy.”

Josh stared at the squirming ball of fur in her arms. A contented rumble emanated from it. A purr? If so, it was the loudest purr he’d ever heard, and it came from the biggest cat he’d ever seen in his life.

A few moments passed before he recovered. “That’s a cat?”

“This is my best buddy. He’s a Maine Coon cat with an attitude.” Timothy’s head appeared, and great unblinking yellow eyes focused on Josh with interest.

“I’ll say he has an attitude,” Josh said as he recovered his composure. He sneezed.

“Allergic?” Gina asked sweetly.

“Yes. Maybe I should leave.”

“I was going to let you wash your feet. Or are you becoming fond of purple?”

“I’d appreciate some running water. Will Timothy mind if I pet him?”

“No. He’s harmless.”

Josh tentatively reached out a hand and stroked Timothy’s head. The cat closed his eyes and purred even louder.

“He likes you.”

“Yeah. I wish you did.”

“I do, sort of. You were a good sport tonight, Josh.”

“How many points does that win me?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Enough.” She turned away. “The spigot’s right over here,” she said, leading the way. “I’ll get a bar of soap from the potting shed.”

Josh dropped his shoes and blazer on a nearby bench and turned on the water. Gina set Timothy down on the back porch steps and picked her way carefully through the shadows to the shed, where she gathered up the bar of soap, a washcloth and a soft old towel.

Josh stood almost ankle deep in a puddle when she returned. She handed him the soap and washcloth and went to observe from the porch so her shoes wouldn’t get wet in the runoff.

“That should do it,” Josh said as he dried his feet. Crickets chirped in the garden, filling her ears with sound to block out what she was thinking. She recalled a night in the garden in Scotland two years ago when she and Josh had been enjoying an arranged date. She had climbed up on a crumbling moss-covered bench so she could see over the wall separating the castle from the moor, and Josh had smiled up at her in exactly the same way he was doing now. Then he had taken her hand and helped her down from the bench while she worried about whether he would try to kiss her.

“What should I do with the towel?” he asked, breaking the bubble of her memories.

Silently, she held out her hand, and he put the towel in it. Timothy meowed, impatient because she hadn’t fed him before she’d left earlier.

“Gina, how about going out for a drink or something?” Josh had moved closer and was lounging against the wall with his own brand of careless grace.

Her heart did a flip-flop at the eagerness of his tone, and she willed it to start beating normally. She had no business letting Joshua Corbett think that their romance could heat up again.

“Sorry, I have to get up early in the morning,” she said curtly, though the words had a hard time moving past her suddenly dry throat.

Josh straightened, a hint of impatience in his stance. “Gina,” he began, but she interrupted.

“I really have to go in now,” she said on a slightly frantic note. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and she’d hardly drunk any wine at all.

Before she knew it he had cupped a hand around her nape and was pulling her head down toward him. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe; all the air seemed to have left her lungs. She closed her eyes and an unbidden picture sprang up from somewhere deep inside—two bodies, theirs, tangled amid bedclothes, and his hand sliding slowly up from her waist to cup her breast and bring it to his mouth. The fantasy expanded until she could imagine his warm skin pressed against hers, and the arch of her back as—

She made herself open her eyes. She shouldn’t be thinking of Josh that way. As she knew only too well, moonlight and a romantic setting did not a relationship make. She had found that out all too painfully once before.

She took a deliberate step backward, inadvertently treading on Timothy’s tail. The cat yowled and leaped into space, and Gina nearly lost her balance.

Josh grabbed her before she went flying off the porch, and she clutched at him in order to stabilize herself. His muscles were strong beneath the sleeve of his shirt, the fabric soft and expensive. The sight of the monogram on the pocket reminded her that he was Joshua James Corbett III, Mr. Moneybags. And she was the same person she had always been, Gina Angelini of Rio Robles, California, which was hardly in his league. She’d known it from the beginning, and he’d more than likely known it, too, since he’d chosen Tahoma and not her.

Flustered, she pulled away. The mood was broken, but at least he had the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he said.

Gina made an effort to pull herself together. To cover her confusion, she peered into the shadows, looking for Timothy. He was sulking, no doubt, but he’d get over it when he heard the electric can opener. That sound always made him come running.

She had barely regained her composure, when Josh spoke. “Thanks for the evening, Gina,” he said, unexpectedly formal and overly polite.

“You’re welcome,” she said, equally as formal and polite. He raised his hand in a farewell salute as she opened the door and backed inside. Timothy poked his head out of his favorite refuge, the catnip patch, and meowed plaintively.

“Come in, Timothy. I won’t step on you this time.” The cat, eyeing her distrustfully, jumped onto the top step and followed her up the stairs to her apartment.

Through the kitchen window, Gina kept an eye on the back of Josh’s shirt as he disappeared around the corner of the cottage. She was in trouble, big trouble. And clearly, she’d be in over her head if she couldn’t say no to Josh Corbett and mean it.