3 Savor Page 8

  “Don’t worry, I ran out of steam real quick. I was sweating and exhausted after a hundred yards and headed back to the house.”

  “Serves you right, going without me.”

  “You’re a marked woman. I don’t want to get hit by a stray bullet,” he teased.

  “That’s not funny, because if someone shoots at me, you’re supposed to jump in front of the bullet.”

  He pushed damp hair off his forehead and wiped his hands on his shorts. “That would be a secret service agent – or Superman – of which I’m neither.”

  “Then remind me… why did I marry you?” she asked, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off his bare chest.

  The left side of his mouth lifted in a sexy grin. “Dare I say, love? Or were you thinking of something a little more carnal?” he asked, pulling her against his sweaty chest and covering her mouth with his own.

  Not that she didn’t enjoy a little love in the afternoon and all, but she had a strong suspicion she was being manipulated. She reluctantly pulled back and looked him in the eye. “I thought we agreed to share everything from now on. What aren’t you telling me? It must be bad or you wouldn’t have rushed down here all sweaty before you took a shower.”

  His eyes narrowed but he definitely looked guilty of something. “Can’t a guy visit his wife without…?”

  “No. He can’t. Because his wife knows him better than that. Handy, you’re scaring me. What is going on?”

  He reached out and brushed his fingertips along her cheek in a soft caress, his lips pulled into a thin line to keep his emotions in check. “Manny called. He said he heard through one of his contacts that someone took a contract out on you,” he said, blinking rapidly.

  “What? Why? That’s crazy.” She shook her head trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. “Who… wha…it doesn’t make sense,” she stammered.

  “I know. I know.” He pulled her back into his arms and held her tight. The only place in the world she always felt safe.

  Until now.

  •••••

  Margaret drove up to Antonio’s and parked outside the restaurant’s back door. She checked her watch. It was still twenty minutes before her scheduled meeting with Mr. Salvatore. If he were as punctual as she imagined him to be, he would probably show up a bit early. Other than employee cars parked in back, there were no other vehicles in sight, so she was pretty certain he wasn’t here yet.

  Her little red pickup made a funny squealing sound when she stopped. She hoped it wasn’t the brakes again. She’d just had new brake pads installed last year. Handel told her she drove too fast and used her brakes too liberally, but the traffic was always so terrible and she was always in a hurry. Of course she rode the brakes half the time.

  She beeped the horn before she got out of the cab. Carl was expecting her but he always liked her to alert them when she arrived so he could send someone out right away to carry the wine in for her. She climbed out, flipped the tailgate down and started to scoot the cases closer to the edge when she heard the door open.

  “Hey, hold on, Miss Parker. I got’em.” A skinny young man with stringy blonde hair hurried over and picked up the first case. He grinned at her and shook his head. “You know Carl wants me to carry these. Are you trying to take my job?”

  She threw her hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with feigned seriousness. “Put a mediocre busboy out of work? No way!”

  “Hey!” he said, turning at the door, his eyes narrowed. “Mediocre? I’m at least a half step above that. I’d say my talents are adequate.”

  “You’re right. Sorry to offend you, Dirk.” She held the door open for him. “Your carrying technique is also truly amazing.”

  At the sound of their voices, Carl looked up from the table where he was going over his accounts. “Ciao Bella!” he called from across the kitchen. He scooted his chair back and came over to kiss her cheek. “I never see your beautiful face these days unless you’re delivering wine. I guess we should order more often.”

  Dirk set the case down and went off to retrieve the other one from the pickup.

  “I’d love to sell you more wine, but my other customers might get jealous.” She looked around the kitchen. Carl’s cooks were already busy whipping up culinary Italian masterpieces. The air was heady with onion and garlic, basil and olive oil. She took a deep breath and released it. “Smells delicious! Coming here always makes me hungry,” she said.

  “What do you want? Let me fix you something,” he offered, already moving toward the cutting board.

  She put a hand on his arm. “Carl. Have you heard from your uncle?” she asked when he turned around.

  “Uncle Salvatore?”

  “He called me last night,” she began.

  “What?” Carl picked up the chopping knife and started slicing a Portobello mushroom. “Why? He has never contacted you before, right?”

  She shook her head. “He wanted to meet, so I told him here at two o’clock. I hope that’s alright.”

  He scraped the mushroom into a heated skillet. “He’s coming here? Now?” he glanced at the clock on the wall above the stoves. “I didn’t even know he was in the country.”

  “I thought it would be better to meet him somewhere semi-private… but with backup.” She gave him a tight smile. “I’m sorry if you feel like you’re being thrust in the middle, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “It’s fine. I know my uncle can be intimidating.” He stirred the mushrooms and turned the heat down. “Juan, finish the sauce!” he yelled across the room at a Mexican man with a long Fu Manchu mustache. He was busy making egg noodles. He looked up from his work and nodded.

  Carl took her arm and led her to the dining room. “The only way to ensure a pleasant meeting with my uncle is to satisfy his palate. The best food and wine available and a beautiful woman as his dinner companion. I’ll supply the food and wine.” He motioned toward a corner table, already set and ready for guests. “Sit. Try to look relaxed and confident. He’s like a Piranha, always looking for weakness. Don’t let him consume you.”

  If he was trying to instill confidence in her, it wasn’t working. Fear, on the other hand… “Carl,” she started, but he was already hurrying back through the swinging door into the kitchen. She sighed and tried to relax, shaking her arms loosely at her sides. “You will not be consumed,” she muttered softly.

  “Miss Parker,” Dirk said, coming through the door, the pickup key in his outstretched hand. “You left your truck running.”

  “Oh, thanks. What would I do without you?” She took the key and flashed him a smile.

  His face flushed red at her simple flattery. He scratched at his chin covered with thin boyish beard fuzz. “I noticed your power steering belt is going bad. It was squealing, so I looked under the hood. You should get that replaced soon.”

  “A belt? I thought it was the brakes. Well, just one more thing to worry about.”

  “I can do it for you if you want,” he offered, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I work on my car all the time.”

  “That’s really nice of you, but I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll take it to a garage when I have time.” She sat down at the table and folded her hands in her lap.

  “It’s no problem. Really.” He backed away toward the door. “You have a nice lunch, Miss Parker.”

  “Thanks Dirk.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to feel relaxed and confident as Carl had instructed, but at the sound of an unfamiliar voice booming behind the closed kitchen door she jumped. Her eyes flew open as a handsome, distinguished looking man pushed through the doors following Carl into the dining room.

  Edoardo Salvatore wore a charcoal suit with a white shirt and slate blue tie. He was taller than his son, and broader through the shoulders. He must have been nearing sixty, but his hair was still dark and thick with just a sprinkling of grey. Of course that could have been the work of a talented hairdresse
r.

  His eyes held hers as he approached, his gaze icy cold. But at Carl’s introduction, he took her hand and was all suave charm and kind words. She thought perhaps it was those pale blue eyes beneath dark lashes that made her think of ice. Agosto’s eyes had been so dark they were almost black. He must have taken after his mother in that regard.

  “Ms. Parker,” he said, holding her hand a bit longer than necessary. “My son always did attract the most beautiful women.”

  Carl clasped his uncle’s shoulder. “Please have a seat, Uncle. I’ll bring a bottle of wine.” He gave Margaret a reassuring smile and hurried off.

  Edoardo Salvatore took the chair across from her, straightening his jacket as he did. “So, we finally meet,” he said, his eyes resting somewhere south of her chin for long seconds making her decidedly uncomfortable. “Agosto should have brought you home to Italia years ago. He always was a playboy, unwilling to compromise his enjoyment for a wife and children. He refused to see the bigger picture.” He sighed and lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. “Without heirs, we work for nothing. Sons are the future. They are our legacy.”

  Margaret thought about all the hurtful things Agosto had said before he deserted her and his unborn son all those years ago. He was more than just a playboy; he was a cruel, heartless bastard. He thought the world revolved around his needs and everyone should fall into line and enjoy being used. They certainly shouldn’t expect anything in return. She squeezed her hands together nervously in her lap, fearful of saying something to offend this man, but not willing to let him roll right over her and Davy like a freight train. As the saying goes, the apple never falls far from the tree.

  “Mr. Salvatore, I hope you won’t consider me rude, but as a single mother I do have responsibilities and a full-time job. May I be direct? What is it that you want?”

  He chuckled low in his throat. The sound reminded her of a cartoon tiger getting ready to pounce. “What do I want? That is a good question and certainly direct.”

  Carl took that moment to bring the wine. A 2011 bottle of Chardonnay from Margaret’s cellar. He poured a bit for his uncle to taste. “How’s this?” he asked, eagerly awaiting a show of appreciation.

  Edoardo swirled the wine, his lips pursed seductively as he watched the legs cling to the glass. He breathed in the bouquet and sipped. His brows lifted in a pleasantly surprised expression. “Hmm. I don’t recognize the label and it’s not from Italia but...” He took another sip and nodded.

  Carl filled Margaret’s glass and then his uncle’s. His lips curved up happily. “I was confident you would appreciate this fine wine. It’s made by a genius local winemaker with whom I have a special purchasing agreement.”

  Margaret shot Carl a warning look.

  Edoardo drained the glass and set it down. “Full-bodied, well-balanced, and vivacious,” he said, his gaze on Margaret.

  His flirtatious manner was creeping her out. Even Carl seemed to find it disturbing. He tried to divert his uncle’s attention. “I hope you’re hungry. I have fresh Tortellini and Zucchini soup or Wild Mushroom and Red Wine Risotto. What is your pleasure?”

  Margaret hadn’t planned on staying long enough to eat, but the man had yet to discuss what he came here for. She smiled up at Carl. “A bowl of your soup would be wonderful, thank you.”

  “The risotto for me,” Edoardo said, his eyes never leaving her face.

  Carl hesitated as though unsure whether to leave them alone together. A clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, followed by cursing, decided the issue. “Scusi,” he said and disappeared through the swinging doors again.

  Angry voices rose and fell behind the doors until the disagreement had been settled and then only a low rumble could be heard now and then.

  “Where were we?” Edoardo took another sip of wine and licked his lips.

  “You were going to tell me what brought you here. I know you said you wanted to meet Davy, but why now?”

  “Why now?” he shrugged. “Because there is no better time than the present to take care of the mistakes of the past. My son was taken from me. A grandson would be balm to my soul.”

  A tiny flicker of guilt made her stomach flip-flop. After Agosto was killed, she had the chance to reach out to his family, Carl even offered to be the liaison, but she chose to burn those bridges forever. She decided to be truthful. “Agosto said I was a diversion, nothing more. He wanted me to abort my son. Said that we weren’t good enough for his family tree. That you wouldn’t accept me or Davy. He had no intention of acknowledging us. How did you…”

  “Agosto never told me that he fathered a child, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that I didn’t know. My sister,” he tipped his chin toward the kitchen, “Carl’s mother, informed me of the situation not long after Agosto returned to Italia.”

  “Yet for ten years you never asked to see Davy.”

  “No. Because it was Agosto’s private business. He was young, sowing a few wild oats as you Americans like to say, and he had many years left to sire the right heir.”

  The right heir. The words sparked immediate outrage. “How dare you?” She rose from the table, throwing her napkin aside. “Your arrogance knows no bounds. Do you truly believe I would allow my son to be in your company for even five minutes? You obviously destroyed any goodness that Agosto may have had as a boy and turned him into a conniving, self-centered human being. You will not do the same to my son.” She strode toward the kitchen and nearly collided with Carl entering with their entrees on a platter. She dodged him and pushed through the door, leaving him staring after her.

  “Miss Parker!” Dirk called from across the kitchen where he was washing dishes. “I can change that belt for you anytime. Just give me a call!”

  She threw open the back door of the restaurant without responding and let it slam behind her. Anger rose up until she thought she would scream. The sun beat down upon the pavement and glared off the windshield of the shiny, new, black Jaguar parked in the middle of the driving lane, directly in her path. Unbelievable! Did the man expect a valet to show up and park his car?

  She hurried past, climbed into her pickup and turned the ignition. A faint squeal accompanied the sound of the engine. “Arrogant, son of a…” she muttered and tore out of the parking lot, belatedly seeing Carl in the rearview mirror trying to wave her down. She thought about turning around and going back, after all Carl was a family friend, but her anger drove her on.

  •••••

  Adam pulled into the school parking lot to pick Davy up from soccer camp. Boys and girls wandered all over the place, some with blue shorts and others with red. All wore jerseys that said Shin Kickers across the front and the kid’s name printed on the back. Parents waited in hot cars with windows rolled down or stood outside talking with other parents while their kids got their gear together.

  He saw Davy coming down the hill from the field behind the school. His blonde hair was so pale from hours in the sun that it looked almost white. A girl, about four inches taller and as dark as he was light, walked beside him. They were laughing and reenacting some kind of silly play they’d made in the game. The girl gave Davy a high five when they neared the parking lot and took off at a trot toward a mini van parked farther down the line of cars.

  Adam opened the door and waved. Davy wasn’t expecting him and was probably looking for his mom’s pickup. He usually drove the BMW that Uncle Jack left to Billie when he died. She still had the Mazda she brought from Minnesota and preferred to run around in that, but since Handel’s wreck Adam figured they needed the second car. So, he’d gone car shopping. As fate would have it, he didn’t find what he was looking for at a dealer, but rather parked out front of the club last night with a FOR SALE sign in the side window. The perfect vehicle.

  “Adam!” Davy ran toward him, his eyes huge with excitement. “I don’t believe it! You bought a Vette?” He yanked open the passenger door and jumped in, dumping his duffel bag on the floor. “Wow! Wait till Mom sees thi
s. She’ll freak out.” He slammed the door closed, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

  “Why would she freak out? Doesn’t she like Corvettes,” Adam asked, turning the key in the ignition. Had he made a terrible mistake? He wanted Margaret to know that he respected her opinion. If she really hated it…

  Davy laughed, touching everything on the dash like he was taking a ride in a helicopter for the first time. “No, she doesn’t hate them. She loves Vettes! Especially old ones like this. Uncle Handel had an old Shark when he was in college but he couldn’t afford to keep it. She told me she was pretty mad at him when he sold it cause she thought she’d get it when he bought a new car.”

  Adam grinned. “Cool. A girl who appreciates the classics.”

  He pulled out onto the street and accelerated, shifting into second. The purr of the engine was music to his ears. Davy was too busy checking out every nook and cranny to ask why his mom hadn’t picked him up.

  “So who’s the girl?” Adam asked, casual as a tornado touchdown in Oklahoma. But Davy didn’t seem to notice.

  He swiped his hand over the black and red leather seat. “What girl?” he asked, totally zoning on what was at hand. “This is awesome. Will you let me drive it when I’m old enough?”

  Adam laughed. “You bet. In fact, when you get your permit, I’ll teach you to drive this baby myself.”

  “Cool!”

  When they pulled into the Parker driveway, Adam saw that Margaret had beat him home. Her pickup was parked outside in front of the garage. He wondered how the meeting with Salvatore went, but he knew she wouldn’t want to discuss it in front of Davy, so he put it on the back burner of his mind to ask about later.

  Davy reluctantly climbed out of the car, slowly lifting his bag after him. “Can you drive me to soccer camp tomorrow morning too?” he asked.