The Sicilian's Bride (14 page)

“I think we caught them in time.”

He said
we
but she hadn’t done anything but yell at them ineffectually from her window.

She glanced at him. Now that her eyes were used to the dark, she could see his dark hair, a flash of white teeth, his wide mouth and his crooked nose clearly.

“I’ll have to get a gun like yours,” she said. “And learn to shoot it.”

“Another day,” he said with a glance at her nightgown. She’d almost forgotten she was wearing a long, sheer cotton gown. His eyes seemed to smolder as he surveyed her body. She could feel the heat right through the cloth and she was afraid she might catch on fire from the sparks between them.

The smell of crushed ripe grapes filled the air and a soft breeze caressed her overheated body. She ached to feel his arms around her. She wanted to share the triumph of defeating the wild animals even though he’d done all the work. She had no idea how long they’d been out there. The first rays of sun were creeping over the hills.

Impulsively she reached for his arms and pulled him towards her and kissed him. Kisses tinged with relief and gratitude and something else she didn’t want to name.

His arms tightened around her and her body was pressed against his. She told herself to pull away though it felt so good to feel his heart beat in time with hers. She told herself to let him go. Thanks were enough. Falling for Dario was the stupidest thing she could do. He could never return her love even if she offered it to him. He’d made that very clear.

But the voice of reason was drowned out by the pounding
in her head. There was even a buzzing in her ears. She reminded herself she wasn’t falling in love. This was not love. It was lust. It was longing. Anything but love. She would never love again. She knew the painful consequences. She knew how humiliating it was to fall for someone who wasn’t available. What was happening now was that she was just having fun for the first time in a year. She didn’t want a serious relationship any more than he did. An affair. An affair to remember when winter came and there were no more grapes to pick and no more excuse to see Dario. That’s all this attraction could become.

His kisses and the look in his eyes made her feel like the bravest and the most beautiful woman in the world. Made her want to rip off her nightgown and run through the vines and jump into the pond with him. Feel the cool water around their bodies.

Finally it was he who broke the kiss and held her at arm’s length. He was breathing hard and there was a shuttered look in his eyes she couldn’t decipher. “I’d better let you get some sleep.”

“Sleep?” She looked around. Sleep was the last thing she wanted. She was full of energy. “It’s morning. Would you like some coffee?”

She noted his look of surprise and said, “Follow me.”

The air was still cool and a fine mist hovered over the vines as they walked to the house, straight through to the kitchen where she lit the stove with the sparker. He took in the new propane cylinder, then picked up and inspected an ancient but well-scrubbed saucepan on the stove.

“You’ve been busy,” he said. There was admiration in his voice and she treasured it. She opened the small packets of coffee she’d taken from her hotel room into the two tin cups she’d found in the pantry. When the water boiled she put both cups on a tray and carried them out to the picnic table prouder than if she’d been serving tea in china cups at the Palace
Hotel in San Francisco. The smell of the coffee mingled with the smell of the dew on the overgrown grass poking up around ancient stepping stones. Dario was watching her so intently she almost dropped the tray.

“It’s just coffee,” she said modestly. “Next time I’ll make bread. Now that I have a working oven.”

He sipped his coffee. “Not bad,” he said with a smile that melted her heart. She smiled in return, proud of herself for achieving a way to heat water. The coffee was hot and strong and on top of the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she was ready for a full day’s work.

Then there was his smile. Another stimulant. With just his smile she needed no coffee. Not to mention his company. He kept her entertained with stories of how he learnt to make wine and the times he had had to chase off the wild boars. But when he finally left she sat on an old wooden chair on the patio, suddenly as limp as a rag doll, exhausted and light-headed and more confused than ever. They kissed each other again—beautiful kisses that made her feel amazing—but what did it mean? Had they begun a relationship, an affair? She didn’t ask when she’d see him again and he didn’t say. She wished she didn’t care so much.

Dario drove slowly down the road toward town. He’d done what he had to do, what anyone would do for a neighbor, he’d chased off the boars. But Isabel wasn’t just any neighbor; she was like a magnet and it was hard to resist a magnetic force. He’d resisted for a few days, but he still hadn’t been able to push her out of his mind. He’d finally given in and come here and now he knew he couldn’t stay away.

It wasn’t just the way she looked in a turquoise dress or in a nightgown or the fact that she changed a tire by herself. It wasn’t just the way she followed him through the vines as he
shot pellets at the boars instead of watching from the window like any other woman would do. It wasn’t only her pride in making coffee in an old kitchen with nothing but a few packets. It was her determination in the face of obstacles and the fact that he could not let her face these obstacles alone. It was all of these things put together. And something more. Something he refused to analyze.

That night he was back at the Azienda, telling himself and her that the boars were likely to come again. It was true, they were determined and hungry beasts. He wasn’t the only one who thought so, all the growers were on alert. It was only prudent to be prepared. This time he was so prepared that he brought steaks, potatoes and a bottle of Chianti.

“I owe you a dinner since you shared yours with me at the hotel,” he explained. The smile she gave him made him regret the nights he’d stayed away. He could have been here with her, feeling the warm radiance of that smile.

They cooked outside at the fire pit. There was plenty of old firewood stacked in the barn. He was being a good neighbor. It was a tradition. In Sicily you don’t let your neighbor go hungry.

They ate on the weathered oak picnic table behind the house. In the middle of the table was a pitcher with the pink fragrant Queen Isabella roses his sister had given her. How aptly named, he thought. Isabel was like a rose, so pink and lovely he wanted to inhale her fragrance.

They talked about the harvest and the grapes, then he asked about life in California. She told him San Francisco was full of fit, bright young people who enjoyed the outdoors, ate salads and fresh Dungeness crab out of the ocean.

“California sounds like paradise,” he said. “What made you leave? I know, a miracle happened and you inherited a
vineyard. But what really made you leave? Was it because of your boss? The one who lied to you?”

Isabel turned her wineglass around in her hand before she spoke.

“That’s right. I was ready for a big change after I got fired for breaking the company rule, no inter-office dating.”

“You were fired? I thought no one knew.”

“I thought so, too.”

“What happened to him?”

“Nothing at all. He’s still there.”

“But he broke the rule, too.”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not fair. But if I have learned anything it is that life is not fair. Was it fair my parents died? Was it fair the foster families didn’t want me? But my luck changed when my uncle left me this place. Was it fair he left it to me and didn’t sell it to you? I don’t know, but I’m not going to complain, not about anything.” She folded her arms across her waist as if she was still protecting herself from any more hurt.

He leaned across the table to brush a tendril of red-gold hair from her cheek.

“I have no excuse for what happened between me and him. After years of telling myself not to believe, not to trust anyone but myself, I knew I was on my own and always would be. Then I forgot it all and made a huge mistake. I thought I’d never get over it.”

“But you did,” he insisted. “You’re back on your feet. You’ve got gumption and drive and you’re the hardest worker I’ve ever seen.”
And you’re beautiful, bright and courageous.

She blushed at the compliment, her cheeks turning pink. She was the most amazing combination of modesty and confidence. The thought of anyone hurting her filled him with rage.

“Thanks to my uncle and this vineyard, which gave me
something to do. A reason to try. A new place, a new job. Everything I needed but didn’t know it. That’s the miracle I was telling you about. When I got the letter from the lawyer I thought it was a message from heaven. It was my ticket to a new life, a life I could live without help from anyone.” She stopped and looked at him. “Except you. I don’t know what I would do without you to help me.”

He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he’d always help her, that she’d never be alone again. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t make any such promises, not to her, not to anyone.

“Anyone would have done it. I just happened to be around.” As if he would be there with dinner if it had been someone else. She’d broken through his reserve the way no one else could have. “Next thing, you should learn Italian,” he said.

“I know. Every day I realize how difficult life is when you don’t speak the language. I can’t even read the newspaper.”

In a moment she was back with the local newspaper. He opened it up and together they translated an article. He couldn’t help laughing at her pronunciation of certain words in Italian. He was afraid he’d hurt her feelings, but she laughed with him. What a woman. What a remarkable woman. She seemed to be without an ego. Yes, he knew she was wounded and vulnerable, but tonight she seemed happy and relaxed and so sexy with her tousled hair and her sunburned face. Keep it neighborly, he told himself. Unless you can be sure she’s ready for more.

“I think you’re ready for advanced Italian tomorrow,” he said.

“I need advanced Italian, but first I need running water. I got motor oil and gasoline and diesel for the pump, but…” She trailed off.

“Let’s have a look at it.” He got up and stretched. It was a good excuse to stop staring at Isabel, watching her lips as she pronounced the words in Italian, knowing how her mouth felt
pressed against his, knowing how she felt in his arms and how she smelled like wildflowers. Much safer for his state of mind to face off against an ancient pump and try to make it work than to imagine holding her in his arms all night.

Isabel went to get the motor oil she’d bought and her flashlight and met him at the old pumphouse behind the wine cellar. She felt guilty prevailing on him to help her after he’d brought the dinner. But sitting across the table from him, sharing food, could become a habit she shouldn’t get used to. Hadn’t she confessed how stupid she’d been to fall for the wrong man?

Dario kneeled next to the antique cast-iron engine. “I’m not sure this old relic will run again. Shine the light down here. Now we need the wrenches. They should be in the toolbox in the wine cellar.”

When she returned with the toolbox he struggled with the rusty drain plug, but it appeared to be frozen from years of disuse. She sighed with despair. She had the oil, the wrench and the expert and still no luck.

“This could be trouble. If we can’t change the oil, we can’t run the pump.”

“Never mind, I’ll bathe in mineral water after all.”

He looked up and grinned at her. A real grin. Instead of criticizing her for being extravagant he just smiled. Her heart drummed against her ribs. She’d rather have him smile like that than have all the running water in the world.

“Just joking,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

“Sit down.” He motioned for her to take a position on the dirt floor opposite him. “I’ll push on the wrench from this side, you pull from the other. Okay, pull!”

Together Isabel pulled and Dario pushed, their hands squeezed together on the wrench. Dario’s straining calf pressed against her thigh. But the plug didn’t budge. They rested. They tried again. Isabel’s hair was hanging in damp
tendrils; her face was dripping with sweat. She had to do her part. They had to make it work. She had to have running water if she was going to live here.

This time she put all her energy into it, pulling as hard as she could. Suddenly the plug broke free. Dario’s straining body lunged forward and he fell against Isabel, who was now spreadeagled on her back. His chest pressed against hers, his legs on top of hers. For a long moment he didn’t move and she didn’t speak. She couldn’t catch her breath and she didn’t know what she would say if she could.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low and as intimate as his position on top of her.

“No.”

Instead of taking advantage of the situation, the way she wished he would, he got up, then extended his hand to help her up. “Very good job,
signorina
,” he said, “you’d make an excellent plumber.”

She nodded, too tired to speak. And just a little disappointed he hadn’t kissed her again. But it wasn’t over yet. Next they drained the old oil into an olive-oil can and put the fresh fuel Isabel had bought into the engine’s tank.

“Now comes the moment of truth, when we find out if we can wake up this creature from its sleep.” He wound the starter cord around the pulley. If Dario couldn’t make it work, no one could. But after several more tries, Dario was panting and nothing was happening.

“Can I try?” she asked anxiously.

He wrapped the cord around the pulley and handed her the wooden handle on the end. Then he stood behind her and wrapped his warm hand around hers. “Pull gently but firmly. Like this.” She sighed. Life didn’t get much better than that. Working together, learning together, making something happen.

His hand tightened on hers and they pulled together. The
flywheel slowly turned as the cord unwound. The engine gave a little cough.