Kitabı oxu: «Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart»

Firefighter’s Doorstep Baby

By

Barbara Mcmahon

AND

The Soldier’s Untamed Heart

By

Nikki Logan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Firefighter’s Doorstep Baby

By

Barbara Mcmahon

Dear Reader,

When I think of Italy, I naturally think of beautiful cities, amazing countryside, delicious food and romance. When I visited years ago I was constantly enthralled at the history of the country, the gorgeous architecture, beautiful sculptures and paintings, and the warmth of the Italian people. I loved it! I want to go again.

But until that time comes I’ve settled for spending a few months with Cristiano and Mariella as they meet each other and begin to fall in love.

The setting is the countryside near Naples, with only one trip to Rome, revolving around the beauty of the area, the delicious food and the delights of love as they begin to realise each is perfect for the other—despite feeling they can’t break free of their pasts.

Come feel the warmth of Italy and the magic of falling in love with two special people.

All the best,

Barbara

BARBARA MCMAHON was born and raised in the south USA, but settled in California after spending a year flying around the world for an international airline. After settling down to raise a family and work for a computer firm, she began writing when her children started school. Now, feeling fortunate in being able to realise a long-held dream of quitting her “day job” and writing full time, she and her husband have moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, where she finds her desire to write is stronger than ever. With the beauty of the mountains visible from her windows, and the pace of life slower than the hectic San Francisco Bay Area where they previously resided, she finds more time than ever to think up stories and characters and share them with others through writing. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at PO Box 977, Pioneer, CA 95666-0977, USA. Readers can also contact Barbara at her website: www.barbaramcmahon.com

To First Responders everywhere—thanks for all you do to serve and protect every day. FDNY, we will never forget.

Chapter One

MARIELLA HOLMES stood on the small stone patio and gazed at the lake. Some daredevil was racing the wind on a Jet Ski. A spume of water arced behind it. The soft rumble of its engine faded as it sped across the surface of the water. She glanced into the cottage. Dante was still sleeping. She looked back at the reckless idiot on the Jet Ski; if the noise had woken the baby she’d have been more than annoyed. It had taken her longer than usual to get him to sleep.

What was the maniac doing anyway? If he fell in the water he’d be frozen in no time. Late October was so not lake weather. Yet even as she watched, she felt a spark of envy. He looked carefree skimming along at warp speed. If he was on vacation, he was certainly making the most of his time.

She gazed around the tree-covered hills that rose behind the lake. This would be lovely in the summer. She could picture children swimming in the water, canoes or rowboats dotting the surface. Imagine even more daredevils testing their skills with the Jet Skis; chasing the excitement, exploring the limits of their skills. Her gaze drawn back to the man, she continued to watch as she hoped this one wouldn’t crash. There was beauty in the arc of water spewing from behind him, in the soft wake that radiated from the path of the Jet Ski. Sunshine sparkled on the water, causing a misty rainbow when he turned.

She pulled her sweater closer and drank in the clean mountain air. Beautiful and peaceful. She had never visited this area before. She hadn’t known what to expect. Forested hills, quiet lakes, small villages. It was enchanting. She wished she could explore everything, but they wouldn’t be here that long. Whichever way things went, it would be a relatively short visit. She’d had a lull in work and so had acted on the spur of the moment when she’d decided to come see where Dante’s father was from.

A loud smack of the Jet Ski on the water as it bounced over its own wake had her drawn again to the man. At this distance she could only see the dark hair and broad shoulders as he sat astride the machine. He seemed fearless as the engine roared louder and he went even faster. She could imagine herself flying along, the wind blowing all cares away.

Shivering, she stepped back inside the cottage. This would have been a perfect chance to call Ariana, tell her how much she was enjoying Lake Clarissa, and that she’d seen a man who fired her imagination. She still couldn’t believe her best friend would never call her up again to talk a mile a minute about life. Would never get to hold her son or watch him learn to walk or start school. Mariella brushed the sudden tears from her cheeks. Ariana had been there for her when her own parents had died, but she was not here now. It was Mariella’s turn to step up to the plate.

Time healed all hurts, Mariella knew that. She had gotten over the worst of her grief after her parents’ untimely death when she’d been in New York during her first year at university. Her grief over Ariana’s death would gradually ease too. She knew in her mind she’d remember her friend with love as the years went on. But sometimes she felt raw, burning pain. Ariana had only been twenty-two. Her life should have stretched out until they were both old ladies. Instead, it had ended far too soon.

Shaking her head to dislodge depressing thoughts, Mariella focused on the future. She had Dante. She had a job. She had a quest. One day at a time. It had worked so far. So what if she felt overwhelmed some days? Caring for an unexpected baby wasn’t easy. At least they were both healthy, well fed and comfortable. And she was getting the hang of being a mother. She hoped Dante would never remember her inept first attempts.

Crossing the small living room, she checked on the infant sleeping in the baby carrier still locked in the stroller. Checking the time, she knew he’d awaken soon for a bottle. She had a few minutes to unpack the groceries she’d brought and prepare his next meal before the first stirring.

She’d booked the room for a week, thinking that would be enough time to wander around and get a feel for the place and see if anyone here recognized the picture she had of Ariana. If not, they’d move on to Monta Correnti. She had no firm clues, no certainty she was even in the right place. She only knew this was the place Ariana had spoken about. The only clue she had given about Dante’s father.

Ariana had been so sick and afraid those last weeks. Mariella wished her friend had called upon her earlier, but she had waited until graduation and Mariella’s return to Rome before sharing the prognosis for the disease that ravaged her body. And, despite all Mariella’s pleading, she had not revealed Dante’s father’s name. Only the bare fact that he came from this area, and they’d spent a wonderful weekend at Lake Clarissa.

The only child of older parents, Mariella was now alone in the world—and the guardian of an infant to boot. She’d always wished for brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins galore. She wished that for Dante as well. Maybe she could find his father, tell him of his son and discover he came from a large loving family who would take the baby into their hearts.

She glanced over to him again, her heart twisting. She loved this child. But it was so hard to be suddenly a mom. If she found his father, would she be able to give the baby up? Would a big family be best for him? She was still uncertain. At least she didn’t have to make any decisions today. First she had to see if she could even locate his father. She’d decide then what course of action to take.

Cristiano opened the throttle full blast as the Jet Ski skimmed across the waves. The air was chilled, causing his blood to pump harder to keep him warm. The thrill of speed, the challenge of control, the sun glittering on the water all made him feel more alive than he had in months. All other thoughts and worries and memories evaporated. If the Jet Ski could go even faster, he would have relished the exhilaration, however short-lived. He pushed the machine to the max.

The injured ankle had healed. He’d been unable to use the Jet Ski during the warm summer weeks, but now, in the waning days of fall, he had the lake to himself. Power roared beneath him as he bounced over the small waves. The shore blurred by as he pushed the throttle surging to that last bit of power. He felt invincible. He’d cheated death once this year. He would not be taken today.

Drawing near the shore, he slowly banked toward the right, not sharp enough to capsize, but enough to swerve away from the rocky land that was fast approaching. He could ease back on the throttle, but what challenge was in that?

The Jet Ski bumped over its own wake and he stood up to cushion the smacks as it slammed down on the water. Now his ankle ached a bit, reminding him he was not yet totally fit. Another circle and he’d return to the dock. It was cold enough that his toes were going numb. But there were few enough sunny days at this time of year. He’d take all he could get to enjoy being on the lake.

A few moments later, he slowed the ski and made a figure eight, then angled near the shore to make a big sweep that would take him back to the dock. Lake Clarissa was empty, the beach deserted. He was the only person in sight. The summer tourists had long left and the few people who came in the winter had not yet shown up. He had the place to himself.

As he skied past the row of cottages the Bertatalis rented, he noticed the far one was occupied. Lake Clarissa didn’t offer the nightlife that Monta Correnti did. Most people weren’t foolish enough to venture into the cold lake at this time of year. They had more sense than he did. It was probably some older couple who wanted to watch birds or see the leaves change. It wasn’t that far to Monta Correnti they couldn’t still drive over for some nighttime entertainment.

He pulled the Jet Ski up to the dock and in only moments secured it in the small floating ramp in the berth he rented. He tied it down and headed back to land. His wet feet left footprints on the wooden dock as he walked to his motorcycle. Drying himself, he quickly donned the jeans and boots he’d left across the seat, and pulled on a heavy sweater. It felt good to get warm. Donning the helmet, he mounted the bike and kick-started it. The rumble was not unlike the Jet Ski. Did power equate noise? He laughed at that idea and pulled onto the street. The small amount of traffic still surprised him after his time in Rome. Vacations in Lake Clarissa had always been fleeting, too much work waiting at home when he’d been a child. Once grown, he’d preferred his exciting life travelling the world with his job, or the challenges of extreme sports, to spending much time in this little sleepy lakeside village.

Until the bombing had altered everything.

Shortly after one Cristiano got off his motorcycle on the side street by Pietro’s Bistro. Lunch here would beat cooking for himself. His father would be horrified his own son didn’t like cooking. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it precisely, it just didn’t seem worth the effort for only one.

There was a wide patio for dining, empty this time of year. It wasn’t that cool, yet the breezes blowing down from the higher elevation carried a chill. He entered the warm restaurant and paused a moment while his eyes got used to the dimmer light. Pietro’s smelled like home. The restaurant he’d worked in most of his childhood, that his father still owned, was even of a similar rustic theme. Bella Rosa had more patrons and more bustle than Pietro’s, but Pietro’s was free of the ties to Cristiano’s past he was trying to flee.

There were couples and groups eating at various tables—it was more crowded than he’d expected. Some people he recognized and nodded to when they looked up and waved. When Emeliano appeared from the kitchen, white apron tied neatly around his waist, heavy tray balanced on one hand, Cristiano watched. His arms almost ached at the remembered tiredness he’d felt after a long day at Rosa. He hadn’t worked there in years, but some memories didn’t fade. Even when he wished they would.

“Cristiano, sit anywhere. I’ll be there soon,” Emeliano called out as he deftly transferred the tray from his hand to the stand beside the table he was serving.

Cristiano walked toward his favorite table, near the big window overlooking the town square. It was occupied.

He walked past and sat at the next one, then looked at the woman who had taken the table he liked best.

She had blonde hair with copper highlights. She was cooing to a small baby and seemed oblivious to the rest of the restaurant. He didn’t recognize her. Probably another tourist. Even keeping to himself, he still kept tapped into the local rumor mill—enough to know if someone local had a new baby visiting. Italian families loved new babies.

The woman looked up and caught his gaze. She smiled then looked away.

He stared at her feeling that smile like a punch to the gut. From that quick glimpse he noted her eyes were silver, her cheeks brushed with pink—from the sun or the warmth of the restaurant? Glancing around, he wondered idly where her husband was.

“Rigatoni?” Emeliano asked when he stopped by Cristiano’s table, distracting Cristiano from his speculation about the woman.

“Sure.” He ordered it almost every time he ate here.

“Not as good as what you get at Rosa,” Emeliano said, jotting it on a pad.

“I’m not at Rosa,” Cristiano said easily. He could have quickly covered the distance between Lake Clarissa and Monta Correnti for lunch, but he wasn’t ready to see his family yet. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever be ready to go back home.

“Saw you on the lake. You could get killed.”

He and Emeliano had played together as kids, challenging each other to swim races, exploring the hills with his brother Valentino. Cristiano grinned up at him. “Could have but didn’t.” Didn’t Emeliano know he felt invincible?

“You need to think of the future, Cristiano. You and Valentino, why not go into business with your father? If Pietro didn’t already have three boys, I’d see if he’d take me on as partner,” Emeliano said.

“Go to Rome, find a place and work up,” Cristiano suggested, conscious of the attention from the woman at the next table. He didn’t care if she eavesdropped. He had no secrets.

Except one.

“And my mother, what of her? You have it great, Cristiano.”

He smiled, all for show. If only Emeliano knew the truth—all the truth—he’d look away in disgust. “How is your mother?”

“Ailing. Arthritis is a terrible thing.” Emeliano flexed his hands. “I hope I never get it.”

“Me, too.”

Cristiano met the woman’s gaze again when Emeliano left and didn’t look away. She flushed slightly and looked at the baby, smiling at his babbling and arm waving. Covering one small fist with her hand, she leaned over to kiss him. Just then she glanced up again.

“I saw you on the Jet Ski,” she said.

He nodded.

“You fell in the water.”

“But I didn’t fall.”

She shrugged, glancing at the infant. Then looked shyly at him again. “It looked like great fun.”

“It is. How old is your baby?” He looked at the child, trying to gauge if it were smaller than the one from last May. He wasn’t often around infants and couldn’t guess his age.

She smiled again, her eyes going all silvery. Nice combination of coloring. He wondered again who she was and why she was at Lake Clarissa.

“He’s almost five months.”

A boy. His father had two boys and a girl. Wait, make that four boys and a girl. He still couldn’t get used to the startling fact his sister shared a few months ago—about two older half-brothers who were Americans. Too surreal. Another reason to keep away from his family. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his father keeping that secret all his life.

The infant had dark hair and dark eyes. His chubby cheeks held no clue as to what he’d look like as an adult, but his coloring didn’t match hers at all.

“Does he look like his father?”

“I have no idea. But his mother had dark eyes and hair. Maybe when he’s older, I’ll see some resemblance to the man who fathered him. Right now to me he looks like his mom.” She reached out and brushed the baby’s head in a light caress.

“He’s not yours?”

She shook her head.

“A nanny?” So maybe there was no man in the picture. Was she watching the baby for a family? She seemed devoted to the child.

She shook her head again. “I’m his guardian. His mother died.” She blinked back tears and Cristiano again felt that discomforting shift in his mid section. He hoped she wasn’t going to cry. He never knew how to handle a woman in tears. He wanted to slay dragons or race away. Unfortunately he all too often had to comfort women—and men sometimes—in tears at their loss. He always did his best. Always felt it fell short.

Emeliano arrived with a tray laden with rigatoni, big salad and hot garlic bread. He glanced at the woman, then Cristiano. “Want to sit together?”

“No,” Cristiano said.

At the same time she replied, “That would be fine, if he doesn’t mind.”

“Oops,” she said immediately. “I guess you do mind.” She put on a bright smile. “I’ll be going soon.”

He felt like a jerk. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “Come, sit with me. I could use the company while I eat.” He tried to make up for the faux pas, but she just gave a polite smile and said, “No, thanks anyway, I have to be going. This guy likes to ride in the stroller to see the sights.” She fumbled for her wallet and began pulling out the euros to pay her bill.

Emeliano served Cristiano, gave him a wry look and hurried away to look after another customer.

By the high color in her cheeks, he knew she was embarrassed. They’d been talking; it seemed churlish to refuse when his friend made the suggestion. Now he wished he had waited a second, thought before he spoke.

She rose and gathered her purse and a diaper bag and quickly carried the baby to the front of the restaurant without looking at him again. There he saw the stroller he’d missed when he first entered. In a heartbeat, they were gone.

His sister would have scolded him for his bad manners. His father would have looked at him with sadness. Of course his father seemed perpetually sad since their mother had died so long ago. He’d never found another woman to share his life with.

Cristiano began to eat. The food was good, not excellent, but good. What did it matter? Seeing the baby reminded him of his friend Stephano’s young daughter. Too young to have lost her father. Cristiano still couldn’t believe his best friend had perished in the instant the second bomb had exploded. Many days he could almost believe he was on leave and would go back to work to find Stephano and the others on his squad ready to fight whatever fires came their way.

But his friend was gone. Forever.

Cristiano ate slowly, regretting his hasty refusal of sitting with the woman with the baby. Learning more about her would have kept his mind off his friend and his other worries.

Mariella bundled Dante up and placed him in the stroller. She couldn’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. She felt the wave of embarrassment wash over her as she remembered offering to have the man sit at her table. He had definitely been annoyed. He probably had women falling over themselves to gain his attention with those dark compelling eyes and the tanned skin. He looked as if he brought the outdoors inside with him. He towered over the waiter. When he’d sat at the table next to hers she’d been impressed with his trim physique, wide shoulders and masculine air. He had such vitality around him.

She’d also been too flustered to ask the waiter if he’d ever seen Ariana in the restaurant. She’d even brought the picture of her friend to show around.

A moment later the thought popped into her head that the man talking to the waiter could even have been Dante’s father. He had the dark eyes and hair for it.

“So who’s your daddy, sweetie? Did he live around here or only bring your mother for a visit?” she asked the baby as they moved along the worn sidewalk. Shops enticed, but it was difficult to maneuver the stroller through the narrow aisles of the small stores. She needed a better plan to try to find Dante’s father than simply showing Ariana’s photograph to every man she saw and asking if he’d known her. Why ever would anyone admit to it if there’d been a problem with their relationship?

Stopping near the church, she sat on one of the wooden benches facing the town square. It was peaceful here. Dressed warmly, she was comfortable on this sunny afternoon despite the cooler temperatures. Checking on Dante, she was pleased he was warm and animated, looking around at the different buildings, up at the leaves on the tree partially shading the bench.

“Tree,” she said. She knew Dante probably couldn’t care less what that was called as long as she fed him on time and kept him dry and warm.

She still felt stressed dealing with the baby and hoped this trip would not only help her find out more about his father, but bring them closer together, too. She’d read every book she could get her hands on about newborns, had enlisted the help of a couple of friends who had children. But nothing had prepared her for the task of being an instant mom twenty-four-seven. At least most mothers had months to get used to the idea. Plans and dreams—usually with a partner—centered on the new life arriving. Psyching themselves up for the challenges.

Instead, Dante had been Mariella’s instant baby. She had known about him for less than a month before she became his mother. No warning, no preparation, and definitely no partner to share the task.

Dante was dozing when Mariella thought about returning to the cottage she’d rented. He’d sleep better in the crib she’d had set up for him. And she could finish unpacking and settle in. They’d be here a week so she needed to get organized, then she could decide how to go on.

“I didn’t mean to run you off.” She looked to her left and saw the man from the restaurant. He paused beside her. The sun glinted on his dark hair. His dark eyes looked straight into hers and caused her heart to bump up in rhythm. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She felt a flare of attraction sweep through her. It made her almost giddy. Certainly not the way a mother should react. She hadn’t expected to see him again—especially so soon after the restaurant.

“I was ready to leave,” she said. She looked away. He was gorgeous—tall, tanned and fit. Was he on holiday? Why else would he be Jet Skiing and then taking a long lunch in the middle of the week? Or did he live around here and have the kind of job that allowed mid-week excursions to the lake? She wanted to know more about him.

He sat beside her on the bench, staring at the fountain at the center of the square. She flicked him a glance, but he seemed oblivious, still focused on the fountain. She noted no rings on his hands. She looked where he looked. The honey-colored stone blended well with the mountain setting. The cobbled street gave testimony to the age of the village. Surely he’d seen it all before. As if reading her thoughts, he turned and looked at her, offering his hand.

“My name is Cristiano Casali. Emeliano’s suggestion caught me by surprise. You have a baby and I thought it best—never mind. I apologize for my rudeness.”

She shook his hand and then pulled hers free. Tingling from the brief contact, she cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on what he said and not on the amazing feelings suddenly pulsing through her. He was just a man being courteous.

“Not to worry. I’m Mariella Holmes.” She didn’t dare look at him. Let her get her roiling emotions under some control first.

“So the mystery of the baby intrigues me. And if you knew about how things have been with me lately, that’s surprising. How is he yours? You look too young to be a guardian of anyone.” He glanced at the baby, then back at her.

“I’m twenty-two and old enough. I have friends who didn’t go to university who married young and already have two children.” She would never confide to a stranger how unprepared she felt being a new mother. If she’d just had more time to prepare, maybe she’d feel better suited to the role.

“Okay, you’re old enough, but how?”

“His mother died. Before she did, I agreed to be his guardian. Ariana had no other family.” She was proud she could say her friend’s name without bursting into tears. Studying him as she spoke, she saw no start of recognition when she said her friend’s name.

“The father didn’t object?” he asked.

“I don’t have a clue who the father is.” She’d asked as many of Ariana’s friends as she knew if they had known the man. No one had. It was a secret her friend had taken with her.

Cristiano frowned at her statement. Mariella elaborated in a rush, feeling the need to explain.

“Dante’s mother was my best friend, Ariana. She met some guy and fell in love. Apparently when she told him she was pregnant, the man abandoned her. I didn’t know any of this. I was in New York when I got her phone call shortly before Dante was born. She was sick and asked me to come back to Italy. I did, instantly. When she asked me to take Dante, how could I refuse? We were as close as sisters, yet she never told me his father’s name though I asked many times.” She looked at the child, feeling the weight of her commitment heavy on her shoulders.

“What happened to your friend?” Cristiano asked gently.

Mariella took a moment to gather her composure. It was still hard to talk about the death of her very dearest and longest friend. “She died of leukemia. She found out she had it while pregnant and refused any treatment until after the baby was born. He arrived healthy and strong, though a couple of weeks early. She died when he was two weeks old.”

Mariella tried to blot out the picture of her friend those last weeks. Her thin cheeks, lackluster hair, sad, sad eyes. Ariana had known she wouldn’t live to see her baby grow up. She’d implored Mariella over and over to promise to raise Dante for her. The day the guardianship paper had been signed, Ariana had smiled for the last time and soon thereafter slipped into a coma, which led to her death.

“You still seem awfully young to be tied down with a baby. Shouldn’t you be out enjoying life at this stage?”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine with being Dante’s guardian.” She didn’t need some stranger questioning her ability to watch the baby. It was a huge responsibility, Mariella knew that already. And she often questioned her ability herself when lying awake at night, trying to anticipate all she needed to do to raise Dante. Mariella considered it an honor to be chosen to raise her friend’s baby.

No one needed to know how overwhelmed she felt. And how while she loved Dante, it was not the deep maternal love she knew other mothers felt immediately for their child. Mariella loved this baby, but couldn’t help feeling a bit cheated of her best friend. If Ariana had not been pregnant when she’d found out about the leukemia, she might be alive today. Mariella felt alone in a way she’d never experienced before; isolated even more by the demands of an infant.

Not that she’d tell anyone in a million years. What if it ever came back to Dante? She did love him. She did! But she had loved her friend for far longer.

“I need to go,” she said, jumping up. She had to escape her thoughts. She could do this. She would do this. Or find his father and make sure Dante had a loving family to welcome him.

“Seems like I run you off at every turn,” Cristiano said.

She started pushing the stroller. Cristiano rose and fell into step beside her. “Why are you here at this time of year? Most tourists come in the summer months, when they can use the lake,” he said. Glancing at the baby, he added, “And they come when their kids are older and can play by the water. We’ll be getting rain before long. It’s already colder now than a couple of weeks ago. Not very conducive to sitting by the lake.”

“I thought maybe I could find out about Dante’s father. But now that I’m here, I’m not so sure.” It had been a foolish thought. Clutching at straws, that was what. The man could have brought her friend here for a get-away weekend. She only knew Ariana had been happy at Lake Clarissa.

“What do you know about him?” Cristiano asked.

“Nothing. Ariana wouldn’t talk about him at all.”

They approached the small resort on the lake. Traffic was light on the street. The quiet of the afternoon was interrupted only by birdsong.

“You have the last cottage, right?”

“How did you know that?” Mariella asked, looking at him. He had obviously shortened his stride to stay even with her. She wondered if he’d come to the cottage and stay a while. She’d love to put the baby down and have some adult conversation—especially with a man so unlike others she knew.

“I saw it was occupied when I was skiing.”

“Do you live here year round?” she asked.

“No.” With that one word, he changed. She glanced at him, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked ahead as they walked, not elaborating on the single-word response. But she could feel the difference, the way he closed himself off. A bleakness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. What had she said?

“Visiting?” she probed. He’d asked enough questions, she could ask a few. Her curiosity grew. If Ariana had been around, she’d have called her up to tell her about the daredevil and how he was a poster child for sexy, virile Italian male. And speculate why he was at Lake Clarissa and discuss ways she might get to know him better.

“Staying a while,” was all he said.

Her curiosity arose another notch. But she didn’t know him well enough to pester with a lot of questions. Though a dozen burned on her tongue.

The path to the cottage was packed dirt lined with rocks. Bumpy and uneven. It was a bit of a struggle for Mariella to push the stroller, but Dante loved being bounced around. He gurgled and looked enchanted with the bouncy ride.

“Here, let me,” Cristiano said at one point, reaching out to take the stroller. His hand brushed hers as he reached for the handle and she folded her arms across her chest, savoring the tingling. Walking beside him made her feel sheltered and feminine. This was how a family should be, father, mother and baby. She blinked. No going off in daydreams, she admonished.

“Thanks,” she said when they reached the fifth cabin. The trees shaded in the afternoon. The small stone terrace had two chairs and a small table to use when sitting to watch the lake.

The wind had picked up a bit and it was definitely cooler than before.

“I can manage from here,” she said with a smile. “I hope I see you in town again,” she said, feeling daring. It would be too awful to have this be their sole encounter.

He stepped away from the stroller and looked at her. Mariella had the feeling he wanted to say something. His eyes seemed full of turmoil. But he merely nodded and said, “Maybe you will. I come to town often. Goodbye.”

She watched as he walked back along the path, his long legs covering the distance in a short time. One minute he was there, the next gone. And he took some of the brightness of the day with him.

She should have shown him the picture. Maybe he had seen Ariana. Where did he live? Why had her question caused the change? One minute he seemed open and friendly, the next closed and reserved. Not that it was any of her business. But she couldn’t help the curiosity. Was he married? Separated or divorced?

She hoped she saw him again before she left.

Cristiano walked back to the square wondering if he was losing his mind. It had been months since anything had caught his attention as strongly as Mariella Holmes had. She was pretty—granted. But he’d seen other pretty women.

But not like her, something inside whispered. Her hair had that healthy glossy sheen that caught the light and reflected golden highlights. It looked thick and silky. He wished he could have touched it to verify the satiny feel. Her eyes were clear and honest. Her emotions shone through as they changed from steel grey to silvery.

He tried to ignore the image of her that kept flashing in his mind. Her gentle touch with the baby, her bright smile. The way she had of brushing back her hair when the breeze blew it in her face. Was he ready to risk a normal life now? Had things finally turned for the better? He had too much baggage to think of getting involved.

Yet she also came with baggage—a baby.

He’d never envisioned himself as a father. Or even a husband. He liked speed, challenges, adrenaline-producing activities that confirmed over and over he was alive and living life to the fullest. His job as a firefighter was exhilarating, but dangerous. Other men on his crew were married, but he’d never felt it fair to constantly risk his life if someone was depending on him.

He stopped along the sidewalk and gazed over the water. He knew he might never join his crew in battling a blaze again, or, then again, he might be fit to return to duty next week. No one knew what the future held. Maybe his held a silvery-eyed beauty. But he knew he had better be damned sure before going down that path.

Mariella Holmes had domesticity written all over her. She was not for a holiday romance. It’d be best for both their sakes to stay away from her.

Reaching the motorcycle, he sat on it a moment, watching neighbors and townspeople going about their business, shopping, greeting each other. Some waved to him and he acknowledged the greetings. Did they have secrets that would change lives? Did they have families who had kept secrets that were now coming out? Did they have sorrows and loss like those that had dimmed Mariella’s smile?

Too philosophical for him. He put on the black helmet and started the bike. It was a short drive from the village of Lake Clarissa to the family cottage. He had liked being able to walk to the lake as a child. The happy times their family had once had seemed far away these days. Passing the driveway, he continued on, revving up his speed as if he could outrun the memories on the deserted mountain roads.

It was after dark when he pulled to a stop at the back of the family cottage. His excessive speed would give his father a heart attack. The harrowing hairpin turns provided a challenge he loved meeting. The fabulous scenery that raced by was a strong contrast to the smoke and dust and hell of his last weeks in Rome. He much preferred the vistas the hills offered to the memory of death and destruction and loss.

He entered the kitchen and ignored the dishes on the counter and in the sink. Going straight to the cabinet near the stove, he opened it and took down the bottle of brandy. It was far lighter than it had been last night. Not enough, now, to get rip-roaring drunk. He set it on the counter, reached for a glass, then stared at the bottle for a long moment. With a violent smash of his hand he knocked it on the stone floor where it broke into a thousand pieces, the smell of brandy filling the air.

He didn’t need the stupor drink caused. Striding to his room, he stripped and went to take a shower, thinking of the bright smile on Mariella Holmes’ face, and the love she showered on the baby. That was what he wanted. To feel connected. To feel passion and caring and hope for the future. To love. Dared he risk seeing her again?

Chapter Two

MARIELLA rose at five to feed Dante. When he fell back asleep, she powered up her laptop and checked in on her clients, glad the rental cottage had Internet access. Working as a virtual assistant ensured she could work from home and at the hours that suited Dante’s schedule. It was, however, a far cry from the work she’d thought she’d be doing after graduating from university.

She had often talked with friends in New York about setting up their own marketing firm. About setting New York on fire with their brilliant ideas and strong drive and determination. They’d fantasized about clients who would skyrocket them to the top of their field due to their impressive marketing.

Instead, she was quietly typing out another letter for a client miles away from the future she’d once envisioned. Yet she was grateful she’d found something that paid enough for their small flat and all their other needs. A baby was expensive. She could have been in worse shape.

By the time Dante woke from his nap in the late morning, Mariella had caught up on everything and had shut down her computer. Two of her major clients were away this week, which had freed enough time to allow her to start her search for Dante’s father. It was a haphazard way to search for someone, but it was all she had to start with. Hiring someone would prove too expensive.

Bathing the baby when he awoke, then taking a quick shower after he’d been fed, she quickly prepared a light lunch. He was still awake and the day was lovely, so she took him in the stroller to the patio. Sitting on the wooden bench, she wished the cottage had come with a rocking chair. She had purchased one as soon as she’d known she would have Dante. It was soothing to rock the baby as he drank his bottle. Still, they’d only be here a week.

No daring Jet Ski riding today, she noticed. Or had Cristiano gone out earlier that morning and she’d missed him? She might have been busy with her work, but surely she would have heard the Jet Ski? She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. She gazed at the deep blue of the water and the lighter blue of the sky. Contrasting with the dark green of the evergreen trees, it was an idyllic setting. She felt her heart lighten a bit. On impulse, she reached for the baby and held him sitting up in her arms as she absorbed the tranquility.

“Isn’t this a pretty place?” she said, kissing the plump cheek. Dante gazed at her with wide brown eyes. Her heart expanded with love for her friend’s child. He was such a precious little boy.

“Oh, Dante, what are we going to do?” she whispered. “I love you to bits, but I wish every time I see you that your mamma could see you. She loved you so much. One day I’ll tell you just how much.”

Then a noise caught her attention and she looked at the lake, almost grinning in surprised recognition. “It’s him,” she told the baby. “The man we met yesterday. Only you slept through most of it.”

Cristiano sped across the water at a daring rate. She watched, mesmerized. Did the man have no fear? She knew she’d be terrified to go at such speeds across the water.

He made it seem effortless. He and the machine seemed to be one as he banked and flew even faster toward the far shore. Soon she couldn’t see him, only the arcing plume from the power ski. A moment later she saw the turn and then he was racing toward them. She stood, carried the baby to the edge of the patio and turned so Dante could also see the water. She had no idea if he was watching the Jet Ski, but she could scarcely take her eyes off the man riding. She remembered every inch of him—tall, tanned skin, dark hair shaggy and long. Remembering his dark eyes that had gazed into hers so intently had her heart racing.

She’d hoped to see him again. Wanted to learn more about him. Hear him tell about the village and the people who lived here. And tell her what he did in life, where he lived, what made him laugh. Was there a special woman in his life? She didn’t think so, but would like to know for sure.

Was there any place in his life for her?

Foolish thoughts. She was only here for a short time.

As he approached the small dock in front of her cottage, he slowed, coming to a coasting stop as he cut the engine and glided to the wooden planks. Bumping slightly, he sat back and looked up at her.

She almost laughed in delight and, holding Dante firmly, she carefully followed the path to the dock, walking out the few steps to where he bobbed in the water.

“Hi,” she said. “That looks amazing. How fast do you go?” She couldn’t help her grin as she took in the broad shoulders, the muscular legs straddling the machine. For a moment she wished she’d checked her hair before coming out. But with the breeze, it would be windblown no matter what. Cristiano looked fantastic, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks, and those compelling brown eyes that about melted her heart.

“Not too fast. Want to go for a spin?” he asked with a cheeky grin, taking in the baby.

She laughed and shook her head, jiggling Dante a little. “Not with a baby, thank you very much. I’d never let him go on one of those.”

“Maybe when he’s older,” Cristiano said, sitting casually on the floating machine, one foot on the dock anchoring him in place.

She eyed the machine with some wariness. “Too dangerous. Aren’t you cold?” The breeze reminded her it was fall, no hot summer days to be refreshed by the water. With his dark eyes focused on her, she felt her temperature rise. The attraction that flared between them confused her. She’d never felt emotions like this with other men she’d known. Was Cristiano different in some way? Or was it just normal reaction after months of only dealing with Dante?

“My feet are freezing. I’m ready to head back. You going into the village today?”

Mariella hadn’t been sure before, but this clinched it. “Yes. We’ll be walking over in a little while. Are you planning to be there?” She gave him her best smile. Was she flirting with the man? Yes—and it felt great.

“I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone.” His eyes locked with hers, as if urging her to say yes.

She felt daring and excited at the same time. She nodded. “I’d like that.” Trying to subdue the excitement from her voice, she said, “Don’t fall in on your way back.”

“No chance.” He pushed off and in a moment the motor caught and he headed the short distance to the town’s small marina.

She watched until she couldn’t see him clearly.

“So, we’ve been invited to see him again,” she said to Dante, hurrying back to the cottage to get the stroller. She could hardly wait.

Cristiano ran the Jet Ski up on the floating berth and turned off the motor. He’d left his clothes on the motorcycle again only this time didn’t just pull them over his wet ones, but used the men’s facilities at the public boathouse to change. He refused to examine closely why he’d stopped by the cottage to see her. He’d spotted her on the patio and impulse had driven him closer.

The only way to know if she was around, without being totally blatant about it, was to use the lake. When he’d seen her on the porch, the lure of the Jet Ski had vanished. He’d wanted to see her again.

Dressed, he bundled the wet clothes, strapping them on the back of the motorcycle. It would be a two-minute ride to the square. He had no idea if she’d already arrived. Maybe he should have gone home to get the car.

She was talking with the priest in front of the church when Cristiano entered the square. Stopping some distance away, he cut the engine and sat on the motorcycle as he watched, curious what she could be talking to Father Andreas about. The old man shook his head and then smiled down at the baby in the stroller.

In an instant the sunshine dimmed. Cristiano remembered the feel of the baby in the cradle of his arm, the small, terrified child clutched with the other. The baby cried and cried. The nightmare of smoke and darkness and wailing screams filled his senses. For a moment he was there, back in the tunnels of the metro, fighting for breath, for a foothold, for life itself with two children who were too young to die.

He could feel the heat of the fire behind him. Hear the shouts of other first responders, everyone trying to fight their way through hell. Screams of the dying, distorted shadows as the flames flared and waned. He could smell the smoke and dust as clearly as he had when his helmet shattered.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Which way was out? Which way lay sunshine and fresh air and life itself?

A shout sounded louder than the rest. Something bounced on his thigh and Cristiano blinked, looking down at the rubber ball that rolled away from where it had struck him. Two boys raced after it, their laughter and shouts echoing in the square.

He looked around. Mariella was pushing the stroller toward him. The priest was standing on the stairs leading into the old church smiling at the children who played around the fountain. The sun shone in a cloudless sky. A pastoral scene, one of peace and tranquility and the very fabric of life.

Taking a breath, he hoped he could keep his mind in the present. He’d thought he had these flashbacks under control. It had been days since—

“Hello,’ she said as she approached, that wide smile holding his gaze.

No one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. Only Cristiano knew he’d had another flashback—thankfully brief this time. He never knew when they’d come, how debilitating they’d be. This one had passed quickly. Because of Mariella?

He didn’t want her to know. They’d spend some time together today, enjoy each other’s company and then he’d take off for the cottage, the bolt-hole he’d claimed when he had been released from the hospital. No one in his family had known he’d been injured far beyond the ankle that had broken.

“Are you all right?” Mariella asked when she reached the motorcycle, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Sure.” He needed to change that subject quickly. “How do you know Father Andreas?”

“We just met. He was walking by and I showed him my friend’s picture to see if he recognized her. He didn’t.”

She drew it from her pocket and held it out to Cristiano. He took it. The laughing expression on the unknown woman’s face tugged at his heart. This was the young mother who had died. She didn’t look as old as Mariella. Did Mariella feel the same tearing grief he felt whenever he thought about his friend Stephano? Did she regret time wasted when, if she had only known the future, she would have changed what she did in the weeks, days left before her friend’s death?

Had he known Stephano would die in the bomb explosion last May, would he have done more in the days leading to that fateful time? Or would he have taken everything for granted as he had expecting them both to live forever?

It was a lesson well learned. No one could predict the future. Enjoy life while he could. As long as he could.

Handing it back, he said, “I don’t recognize her. When was she here?”

“I don’t know. Sometime within the last eighteen months is all I have. I thought at restaurants or shops someone would recognize her.” She slipped the photograph back into her pocket and shrugged. “So far no one has.”

“What are you going to do if you find him?”

“I’m still not sure. A baby should have his family around him. I’m hoping the father comes from a large family who would love Dante. I may never find him. But I want to tell Dante when he’s older that I tried.”

“Let your family be his.”

She shrugged. “I have no family. Ariana was the closest thing to a sister I had. Both our parents are dead. Neither of us had any other living relatives. Maybe it’s foolish to search for his father, but if it were me, I’d want to know. Easier maybe to find out about him now than when Dante is twenty-one.”

Cristiano didn’t know how he’d feel about finding out he had a child at some future date, after the child was grown. Had the man truly not wanted any connection, or had his initial reaction been panic that he now regretted?

In a way, his family’s recent events paralleled Mariella’s situation. He still didn’t know how to deal with the newly acquired knowledge that his father had other sons, older than he was. They’d grown up a world apart. Would there be some connection should they ever meet? Would blood call to blood? Or would they forever be strangers?

Cristiano could never knowingly give up a child if he had one. How had his father done it?

He kicked down the stand and got off the motorcycle. “Have you questioned everyone in town?”

“So far only the priest and the proprietor at the resort.”

“Come, I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone and you can ask there. Seems to me your best bet would be restaurants and shops where visitors are likely to go.”

“Maybe, but they could have simply come for a weekend at the height of the season when she’d have been just one of many,” she said, pushing the stroller ahead as they walked around the square. The sun shone in a cloudless sky. The air was cool, but comfortable. And she was walking beside a handsome, attentive man. She didn’t want to talk about Ariana and her lost love. She wanted to learn more about Cristiano.

The ice-cream shop was virtually empty.

“Not the time of year for ice cream. Want something else?” he asked.

“No. This will be good. I can give Dante a tiny taste. He’s not eating real food yet.”

They ordered, then went back into the square to sit on a bench in the sunshine.

“Did you once live here? The proprietress knew you,” she asked.

“My grandparents were from Lake Clarissa. They had a small cottage nearby. We lived with them when we were children and papa was busy working. Summer days we would swim in the lake. Sometimes we’d camp out overnight in the forest.”

He watched as Mariella licked her ice cream. The lonely existence he’d chosen these past few months melted away. He hadn’t felt normal for a long time. What was it about this woman that changed that? He could forget the horror that haunted him when he was around her. Maybe he should take her home with him and keep her with him until the spell was broken.

Yet moments before he’d had another flashback. He looked away. He had no business coming to town. What if he had a major meltdown? He had to beat this thing before he could get his life back.

“Sounds like you had a lot of fun here,” she said.

“Yes, we did, it was a happy time. My grandfather lived until I was almost an adult. He continued to live here even when we had all moved away from home, he was a part of the place. He gave our childhood an extra sense of fun and excitement, beyond playing in the forest or at the lake.” Hard to think about the past when he listened to her voice, soft and lilting.

“Is that where you got your daredevil ways?” she asked with a teasing grin.

“Daredevil ways?” That grin felt like a kick to the mid section. For a moment he forgot where they were and wondered what she’d do if he leaned over and kissed her. Her eyes sparkled, there were freckles scattered across her nose, kisses from the sun. He looked away before he did something foolish, such as trail kisses over every one. They’d just met. It was too early to think about kisses.

Yet as the seconds ticked by, the thought would not fade. He’d like to take her hand and feel the soft warmth against his palm. Sit closer so he could feel every radiant bit of heat from her body. Lean in so she could only see him. Find out what fascinated him about her.

“Racing across the lake like you were trying to fly. I consider that amazingly like a daredevil,” she explained, leaning closer.

Did she feel that same pull of attraction? He took a breath, taking in the scent of her, light and flowery. He held his breath for a moment to savor it. Then released it and shook his head. “I’m no daredevil. You should meet my brother Valentino. Now, he’s the daredevil in the family. Today was just Jet Skiing.”

She pointed to the motorcycle across the square. “That’s a dangerous mode of transportation.”

“Not if you know what you’re doing. It’s like flying along the road.”

“So tell me about living here, especially during summer,” she invited as they ate their cones.

Cristiano didn’t want to talk about himself; he wanted to know more about Mariella. But if he offered something, he could have her reciprocate. He began recounting summer days playing at the edge of the lake, climbing around on the rocky shore and learning to swim. Then the nights he and Valentino had spent roaming the woods, feeling daring and grown up braving the darkness.

She laughed at his stories and from time to time admonished Dante to stop listening, she didn’t want him to get ideas. The longer Cristiano talked, the lighter the world seemed to grow. He liked hearing her laugh. The more she did, the more outrageous he made the stories.

“Now, tell me about your summer holidays,” he said when he’d wound down. They’d long since finished their ice cream. The baby had fallen asleep and Mariella seemed content to sit in the sunshine. It was as if she brought sunshine into his life where only darkness had once dwelt.

“We always went to places to learn more about history. My father was an accountant, but he loved history. So we visited Pompeii and Turin, Florence, of course, and Venice.” She smiled in memory and Cristiano knew from her expression how much she’d enjoyed those vacations with her parents.

“Ariana went with us when we were teenagers. We flirted like crazy with the gondoliers in Venice. Of course they ignored us.” She laughed, then her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. “We should have had the chance to remember all those foolish activities when we were old with grandchildren running around. It’s so unfair she died.”

Cristiano wanted to comfort her, but only time would completely heal the pain.

“I had a friend who died last May. Life is unfair. I’m single with few responsibilities. He had a wife and two children. Why him? It should have been me.”

She looked at him in shock. “Never say that. Who knows why some die young? But I have never thought it should have been me instead of Ariana. Life is too precious. We need to enjoy every moment. Maybe even more so because in a way we are now living also for our friends, experiencing life as they will no longer be able to.”

The memories were threatening again. The fear he’d end up hiding beneath the bench they now sat on in the middle of the day, yelling for Stephano, was real. He had to get away before he cracked.

He stood. “I have to go.’ The tightness in his chest grew. It was becoming more difficult to breathe. He held onto the present desperately.

“Thank you for the ice cream. And the conversation,” she said.

He nodded and strode to the motorcycle. Staying any longer was flirting with danger. He knew his limits—and he’d passed them already. Time to get away.

He started the bike and looked over at Mariella. She was watching him, her head tilted slightly as if wondering what had gone wrong. If she only knew all that was wrong.

“Come tomorrow,” he said.

She smiled and nodded.

Mariella watched Cristiano leave. He was the most perplexing man she’d ever met. She’d thought they’d been having a great conversation when he’d abruptly jumped up and left. She tried to remember what she could have said to cause such a reaction. They’d been exchanging memories and she had lamented the fact she and Ariana wouldn’t grow old together.

So who was his friend who had died young? Such an odd thing for them to have in common, yet for a moment it brought her comfort. He was someone who could understand the sadness she felt for the loss of her friend.

The evening was quiet. Mariella played with Dante until the baby fell asleep. She liked this impromptu vacation. She was still working the odd hours to keep her clients happy. But she had more time to spend with the baby. And with several months’ of experience behind her, she was growing more confident in her abilities than that first month as a stunned guardian with a tiny infant and no job.

She could not afford to stay in Lake Clarissa for long, however. She wanted to expand the search for Dante’s father before she had to return to Rome. Stopping in a few shops, speaking with the priest didn’t encompass all of the village. Tomorrow she’d make a concerted effort to visit more places. Then if she had no results, the next day she’d move on to Monta Correnti.

After the baby was asleep, she checked her laptop for any new assignments, then surfed the Net. She put in Cristiano’s name on a whim and was startled when pages loaded. He was a firefighter. He’d been a first responder to the bombing in Rome last May. She read the compelling newspaper articles. The man was a hero. He’d gone down into the bombing scene time and again. He’d saved seven lives, become injured himself and still fought to bring a baby and small child through the smoke-filled metro tunnel to safety that last trip.

Wow. She read every article she could on the bombing. She’d been finishing up finals in New York when the terrorist attack had hit Rome. Once she’d been assured none of her friends had been injured, she’d relegated it and all other news to the back of her mind as she madly studied. Even if she’d seen Cristiano’s name back then, she never would have remembered it.

She had suspected he had some physically demanding job. He was strong, muscular and fit. He moved with casual grace in that tall body. And being around him gave her a definite sense of security. She searched further hoping for a picture, but the only ones she saw were of firefighters and police in uniform, battling for people’s lives.

It was late when she shut down the computer. Checking the doors and windows before retiring, she realized how much it had cooled down in the cottage. She switched on the wall heater and went to get ready for bed. Dante was fast asleep in one of the fleecy sleepers she used for him at night. She covered him with a light blanket and shivered; her fingers were freezing. Fall had truly arrived. At least the baby would be warm through the night, and once she was beneath the blankets she’d be toasty warm herself.

Cristiano sat upright with a bolt. He became instantly awake, breathing hard, the terror still clinging from the nightmare. He took deep gulps of breath, trying to still his racing heart. It was pitch dark—not unlike the tunnel after the bombing. Only the lights from their helmets had given any illumination in the dusty and smoky world.

He threw off the blanket and rose, walking to the window and opening it wide for the fresh air. The cold breeze swept over him, jarring him further. He breathed in the crisp air, relishing the icy clean feel. No smoke. No voices screaming in terror. Nothing here but the peaceful countryside in the middle of the night. The trees blotted out a lot of the stars. The moon rode low on the horizon, its light dancing on the shimmering surface of the lake, a sliver of which was visible from the window.

He gripped the sill and fought the remnants of the nightmare. It was hauntingly familiar. He’d had it often enough since that fateful day. Gradually the echoes of frantic screams faded. The horror receded. The soft normal sounds of night crept in.