The Calamity Janes: Gina and Emma

“A long way from home, aren’t you, Mr. O’Donnell?”

“As are you, Ms. Petrillo.”

“No, this is my home,” she said firmly.

“And New York?”

“Where I work.”

“Not any longer, if I have anything to say about it.”

She gave him a wry look. “Then I guess the battle lines are drawn. It’s a good thing you’re not either judge or jury. I might be quaking in my boots.”

“You should be, anyway. I’m very good at what I do.”

“And what is it that you do, Mr. O’Donnell? Condemn people without a trial?”

“Get at the facts, Ms. Petrillo. That was the whole purpose of that deposition you skipped out on.”

She regarded him with indignation. “I didn’t skip out on anything. Check your appointment book. I rescheduled.”

“Without my permission.”

“Your secretary didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“Yes, well, Lydia sometimes forgets who’s in charge.”

If it had been anyone else under any other circumstance, Gina might have grinned at his resigned expression. Instead, she said only, “You must find that extremely annoying.”

“Mostly it’s just an inconvenience,” he corrected.

“Yes, I imagine chasing halfway across the country after bad guys like me must play havoc with your schedule.”

To her surprise, he chuckled.

“You have no idea,” he said. “I had really big plans for this weekend.”

“Oh? A ball game with the kids? Maybe a charity event with the wife?”

“No kids. No wife.”

That news set off totally inappropriate little butterflies in Gina’s stomach. To her deep regret they seemed to be doing a victory dance. She refused to let him see that he could disconcert her in the slightest way—especially not in that way.

She studied him thoughtfully. “A hot date, then?”

“Nope.”

“Surely you weren’t spending the weekend all alone, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Afraid so. Of course, I would have had my share of entertainment. Before I left I got a subpoena for the Café Tuscany books. I had someone pick them up yesterday morning. I understand your assistant was very helpful. Too bad you and your partner aren’t that cooperative. Where can I find Rinaldi, by the way?”

Gina barely contained a groan. That explained the frantic messages she’d been getting from Deidre all day. Gina hadn’t called back because she had vowed to take this weekend off from everything connected to the restaurant. She had figured Monday would be soon enough to return the call and face whatever catastrophe had struck. Just one more bad decision she would have to live with. They were stacking up faster than the ones the Calamity Janes had made in high school.

“I’m sure those books would have been as illuminating as anything I can tell you,” she said. “You should have stayed at home with them. You could have crunched numbers all weekend long. As for Bobby, if you locate him, let me know. I have a few choice words I’d like to share with him.”

“Do you expect me to believe he skipped out without telling you?”

“Frankly, I don’t care what you believe. Now, go home, Mr. O’Donnell. It’s not too late to cozy up with those financial records. Why not fly back tonight?”

“Because I gave the pilot on the charter jet that brought me here from Denver the night off and I hate to ruin his evening,” the attorney countered. “He was looking forward to doing some line dancing at someplace called the Heartbreak.”

“How very thoughtful of you. And how very expensive to go around chartering jets to get from here to there. Do your clients know how you toss their money around?”

“Oh, this trip’s on me,” he said easily. He glanced around at the crowded field, took a deliberate sniff of the smoky, barbecue-scented air. “I haven’t been to an event like this in a long time.”

She regarded him with skepticism. “For such a proponent of truth, Mr. O’Donnell, that’s quite a fib. You’ve never been to an event like this, have you?”

She deliberately looked him over from head to toe. “I’m guessing some East Coast prep school, then Harvard. If you’ve ever been to a reunion, I’m sure it was in some fancy hotel or private country club. And my hunch is that the closest you’ve ever come to a horse is on a New York street corner and there was a cop mounted on its back.”

“You’d be wrong,” he said without rancor. “I went to public schools, then to Yale, not Harvard.”

“That’s not exactly a significant distinction.”

“I suggest you not say that to an alumnus of either university. We do like to cling to our illusions of supremacy.”

“Well, cling all you like, just do it somewhere else. I’m here to have a good time with some old friends. I don’t want to find you lurking in the shadows everywhere I turn.”

“Too bad. I’m not going anywhere.”

His vehemence was annoying, but not all that surprising. “What really brought you running all the way out here?” she asked curiously. “Are you afraid I’m going to disappear? Are you hoping to discover I’ve stashed the missing money in a mattress at my parents’ house?”

The idea seemed to intrigue him. “Have you?”

“Nope. No stash. No hiding place. And I can show you my airline ticket. It’s round-trip. Go home, Mr. O’Donnell. I’ll see you right on schedule in a couple of weeks.”

“We could get this out of the way right here and now,” he suggested. “Then I could get back to New York and you could enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“Without an attorney present? I don’t think so.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll just have to get used to having me underfoot for...how long did you say you were planning to stay?”

“Two weeks.”

The news seemed to make him very unhappy, but he nodded. “Two weeks, then. I’ll look forward to it.”

Gina sighed. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get another beer.”

He seemed to find that amusing. “Drinking won’t make you forget I’m here.”

“No, I imagine it won’t,” she agreed. “It would take a blow on the head to accomplish that. But the beer might make your presence more palatable.”

She gave him a jaunty salute. “See you in court, Mr. O’Donnell.”

“Oh, I’ll be seeing you long before that,” he said smoothly. “In fact, I’ll be everywhere you turn.”

If only his mission weren’t to put her in jail, Gina thought with a trace of wistfulness, she might actually look forward to that.

As it was, the knot of dread in her stomach tightened. She might not be guilty of anything except the bad judgment to go into business with Bobby, but Rafe O’Donnell struck her as the kind of man who could dig up secrets, twist words and paint a very dark picture of the saintliest person on earth.

And he intended to stay right here in Winding River turning over rocks, no doubt, looking for incriminating evidence, pestering her friends. She shuddered at the prospect.

Maybe she should just get it over with. Talk to him, and send him on his way. But that idea held no appeal, either. She needed time to gather her thoughts and see an attorney back in New York. She didn’t want to drag Emma or anyone else here into this unless she absolutely had to. It was her disaster and she would fix it. Assuming it could be fixed.

In the meantime the music had started and nobody loved dancing more than Gina did. She could postpone that beer for a few more minutes. She gave Rafe O’Donnell a considering look.

“Can you do a two-step?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly. “What’s that?”

She regarded him with pity. “Never mind,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Just follow my lead.”

He caught on more quickly than she had expected. He wasn’t good, but he wasn’t tripping over his own feet or stepping on hers, either.

“You do rise to a challenge, don’t you?” she teased.

“There’s very little I won’t do to win,” he agreed solemnly.

“Are we still talking about dancing?”

“Were we ever?”

Gina sighed. So that was the way it was going to be. He was never going to let her forget why he was here.

“I think I’ll have that beer after all,” she said, even before the music ended. She started away, then turned back. “Leave my friends out of this.”

“I won’t say anything,” he agreed, then had to ruin it by adding, “For the time being.”

“Look, Mr. O’Donnell...”

“I think since we’re going to become so well acquainted over the next couple of weeks, you should call me Rafe.”

She shrugged off the request. “Whatever. The point is, they don’t know anything about this and I don’t want them to.”

“Why? Your friend Lauren makes ten million a movie. She could write you a check and put an end to this right now. You could pay off all those people who’ve been bilked, settle up the restaurant’s accounts and life would go on. You’d never have to see me again.”

“She could,” Gina agreed. “But it’s not her problem. It’s mine.” She leveled a look straight into his eyes. “No, let me correct that. It’s Bobby’s.”

“But he left you holding the bag, didn’t he?”

She held up her hands. “I’m not doing this. Not now. Good night, Mr. O’Donnell.”

She deliberately turned her back on him and walked away, but with every step she took, she felt his gaze burning into her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face, because then he’d know exactly how badly the encounter had shaken her.

Halfway across the field, she ran into Lauren.

“What did you do with that gorgeous man?”

“That gorgeous man is a viper,” Gina snapped.

Instantly her friend’s teasing expression faded. “What did he do?” Lauren demanded, her gaze searching the field for the man who’d offended her friend.

Gina grinned. “It’s okay. Settle down. It’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

But even though she managed to inject a note of confidence into her voice for Lauren’s sake, Gina couldn’t help wondering if Rafe O’Donnell wasn’t way more than she could handle. She thought of the way her pulse had skipped in his presence, then amended the thought: he might be more than she could handle in more ways than one.

2

Rafe had been stunned when he’d realized that the woman sashaying over to him earlier in the evening was the Lauren Winters, an actress renowned for her beauty and her box office appeal. Who would have imagined finding such a glamorous superstar in a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere? To top it off, she seemed to fit right in. No one was gawking. No one was begging for autographs. Clearly she wasn’t just a celebrity imported for the event, but a hometown girl.

But as intrigued as he was to be face-to-face with the superstar, he’d barely been able to pull his gaze away from her friend. From the moment Lauren had introduced him to Gina, he’d been captivated. That was the only word for it, and it was damned inconvenient. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t like her. But his body didn’t seem to give two hoots about any of that.

Gina Petrillo was tall and slender with black eyes and dark hair that curled to her shoulders in sexy disarray. There was an earthy quality to her that reminded him of some of the most legendary Italian beauties. He could instantly envision her standing over a steaming pot of tomato sauce and just as easily imagine her in his bed, in a steamy tangle of arms and legs. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d reacted on such a purely male level to a woman.

Of course, the fact that she was a thief—okay, an alleged thief, he conceded, thinking of Lydia’s admonition—took a little of the fun away from the discovery that he was attracted to her. He had a feeling he was going to spend a lot of time reminding himself that Gina Petrillo was trouble. He would probably spend even more time in cold showers.

Holding her for that dance, watching the sway of her hips as she’d walked away from him, he’d found himself regretting the fact that she was so thoroughly forbidden. Then, again, maybe that was the real allure.

And not only was she forbidden, she didn’t seem to trust him any more than he did her. That offended him. Most people considered him solid and reliable. In fact, he was one of the most respected attorneys at a firm that prided itself on its respectability. In some circles he was even considered a prize catch.

Not that he was any sort of playboy, but he was used to women being eager to see him. He seldom had time for even half the women who called asking him to accompany them to social functions. He had a hunch it would be a cold day in hell before Gina asked him to dance again, much less to join her for dinner. That made her a challenge, and as she had already guessed, he loved a challenge.

The smart thing would be to speak to a local judge, arrange a quick deposition—first thing tomorrow morning, if possible—and then hightail it out of town before he lost sight of his professional ethics.

The only problem with that was that it would leave Gina Petrillo on her own in Wyoming. She’d be able to sneak off to who-knew-where the minute his back was turned. And she was his best link to Roberto Rinaldi. The deposition was only half of what he wanted from her. He also wanted her to lead him to that sleazebag partner of hers. Sooner or later she was going to make contact with the man, if only to strangle him herself...or to get her share of the cash he’d stolen.

No, he concluded, he was here to stay. At least until Gina went back to New York, which she’d insisted would be in two weeks.

Two endless weeks, he thought despondently. Lydia would be elated.

He listened to the annoying whine of a fiddle as the band tuned up for yet another round of country songs, and shuddered. Why couldn’t the woman have run off to Italy? Or Paris? Or anyplace civilized where the music tended to be classical?

“Care to dance, Mr. O’Donnell?”

He gazed down into Lauren’s crystal-blue eyes and wondered why he wasn’t the least bit tempted by the superstar. Because the only eyes on his mind were black as onyx and belonged to a woman who was off-limits, he made himself nod.

“I’d be honored,” he told her. If nothing else, it would be a story to tell when he got back home. Maybe even to repeat to his children, if he ever got around to marrying.

They had taken only a few awkward steps to the unfamiliar rhythm when Lauren came to a stop and dropped any pretense of friendliness. “You don’t know much about the Texas two-step, do you, Mr. O’Donnell?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he admitted. “Tonight is the first time I’ve tried it.”

“Do you consider yourself a quick learner?” she asked.

He regarded her warily. “Under most circumstances.”

“Okay, then, here’s another lesson,” she said. “You don’t know any more about Gina than you do about the two-step. She won’t tell me why you’re here, but your presence is clearly upsetting her, and I don’t like that. She’s a terrific person and she’s among friends, Mr. O’Donnell. You tangle with her, you tangle with all of us.”

He grinned at the feisty defense and the warning. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m not saying that for your amusement,” she snapped. “I mean it. People who underestimate me live to regret it.”

He managed a more somber expression. “I’m aware of that, Ms. Winters. You’ve made your point.”

She studied him intently, then nodded, evidently satisfied. “See that you don’t forget it.”

He watched as she went back to a cluster of three women, Gina among them. Lauren gave her friend a fierce hug, a public demonstration of support meant for his benefit, no doubt. He admired the show of loyalty, but it didn’t change his mind about Gina.

Whether Gina was a thief or not remained to be seen, but her partner was, and that made her guilty of very bad judgment if nothing else. Nothing she’d said or done tonight had persuaded him of her innocence. In fact, quite the opposite.

The way he saw it, Gina was even more dangerous than he’d anticipated. She was savvy and unpredictable. She had a smart mouth. With her restaurant under siege, she just might get it into her head that she had nothing to lose. She could decide to run. And she was surrounded by people who evidently would do just about anything to protect her no matter how guilty she might be.

He was going to have to keep a clear head, which was doubly difficult given the effect she had on him. Obviously, what he needed was a good night’s sleep, though he doubted he’d get it with Gina’s sexy image plaguing him. He glanced around until he found her in the crowd.

She was dancing again, head thrown back, her gaze locked with some cowboy’s. Rafe felt his blood boil. He wanted to stride across the field and yank her out of the man’s embrace. The depth of that unexpected and unfamiliar streak of jealousy startled him. He hadn’t cared enough about any woman to be jealous, not ever. This was not good, not good at all.

He definitely needed to get back to his motel room, alone, and get his sex-starved emotions under control. He hadn’t mentioned to Gina that he’d brought the Café Tuscany books with him. Studying those cold, hard figures ought to put things back into perspective. And they were a whole lot more reliable and easier to understand than any woman. His mother had taught him that.

* * *

Gina didn’t get a wink of sleep all night long. Despite her cool responses and bravado the night before, Rafe O’Donnell had gotten to her. She knew all about the fancy Park Avenue law firm he worked for. She’d recognized the name from its frequent mentions on the news, and some of the partners were among her best customers. They didn’t take cases they didn’t intend to win. She didn’t doubt that he was as driven and determined as the rest of them.

Which meant he was going to make her life a living hell. Oh, in the end, she might be able to prove that Bobby had acted alone, but not without paying a high price. Her reputation would be tarnished. Between unpaid bills and legal fees, the restaurant would be forced to close. And she’d be right back where she started five years ago, working in somebody else’s kitchen to scrape up enough money to open her own restaurant.

It would take longer this time, too, because she wouldn’t have Bobby to draw in investors. In fact, her link to Bobby would probably prevent anyone except the most foolhardy from lending her a dime.

Sighing, she crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a short-sleeved blouse and the cowboy boots she hadn’t worn since she’d left Winding River ten years ago. They still fit perfectly. Maybe there was a message there, that Winding River was where she really belonged, where people still felt a shred of respect for her.

Her parents had long since left the house. Her father worked Saturdays. Her mother spent the morning with the altar guild at church and her afternoon doing errands. Gina was used to late nights and sleeping in. She’d gotten to bed before midnight the night before, but add in a little jet lag and her schedule was completely upside down. It felt like noon, which it was in New York. The clock said otherwise.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, made two slices of toast from her mother’s homemade sourdough bread, then went onto the porch. It was already hot outside, better suited for iced tea than coffee, but she drank it anyway. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would help her think more clearly so she could decide what to do about Rafe O’Donnell.

Unfortunately, the only ideas that came to mind had more to do with discovering what his mouth would feel like against her own than they did with getting him out of town.

Too restless to sit still, she grabbed the keys to her mother’s car, which had been left for her, and headed for town. She parked in the middle of the block on Main Street and considered her options. She could go to Stella’s and probably find a half dozen people she knew who’d be glad to chat with her over another cup of coffee. Or she could go to the Italian restaurant down the block, where Tony would probably let her work off her frustrations over his stove.

No contest, she thought, with a stirring of anticipation.

Tony Falcone had been her mentor. He’d hired her as a waitress while she was still in high school, but it hadn’t been long before he’d discovered that her real talent was in the kitchen. He’d taught her to make lasagna and spaghetti sauce with meatballs. He’d let her experiment with new recipes when cooking the traditional dishes had grown boring. And then he had helped her to persuade her parents that she would be better off going to culinary schools around the world than to any traditional college. It had been a tough sell, especially to her father, who’d been convinced that a degree in accounting would be a lot more practical. Given her current circumstances, Gina had to admit her father might have had a point.

A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she approached the back door at Tony’s and knocked, then opened it without waiting for a response from inside.

“Anybody in here have a good recipe for meatballs?” she called out.

“Cara mia,” Tony said, a smile spreading across his round face when he saw her. “Where have you been? I heard you were coming home, but then nothing. I am insulted that I was not at least the second stop on your list after your parents.”

“I know, I know,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

He studied her. “That depends.”

“On?”

“How long you intend to stay. It has been too long, Gina. My customers are grumbling about the same old food, week after week. Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask when you will be back to liven up the menu.”

“What do you tell them?”

“That you are now a famous chef in New York, and that if they want to eat your food, they will have to travel there.”

Gina eyed with longing the huge old stove with its simmering pots. “I could fix something for tonight,” she offered. “Maybe a spicy penne arrabiata or a Greek-style pizza with black olives and feta cheese.”

“But you are on vacation,” Tony protested. “I cannot ask you to cook.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. Besides, I have some thinking to do, and I always think more clearly as I cook.”

He studied her intently. “Problems, cara mia? Do you want to talk about them? I may not be able to solve them, but I can listen. Sometimes that is all we need, yes? An objective listener while we sort through things?”

Gina debated telling Tony everything. She knew he would keep it to himself. She also knew he would sympathize with her predicament because he, more than anyone, knew how important her restaurant was to her.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.

He regarded her with feigned indignation. “How many nights did I listen to you go on and on about this boyfriend or that?”

She grinned ruefully. “More than I care to think about, but this is different.”

“How?”

“Because it really matters.”

“When you were sixteen, those boys mattered, too.”

She thought back to the string of broken hearts she’d suffered. “Okay, you’re right. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

“I will fix us both an espresso and we will talk.” He gestured toward the front. “Go in there and sit.”

“But you have things to do,” she protested. “We can talk here.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Now, go. I will be there in a minute.”

Gina walked into the dining room with its familiar red-checked tablecloths, the dripping candles stuck in old Chianti bottles, the wide-planked oak floor and the big picture window overlooking Main Street. An inexpertly done mural of Naples had been painted on one wall by Tony’s homesick wife, Francesca.

By comparison, Café Tuscany had five-star ambience, but Gina felt perfectly at home here with the rich scents drifting from the kitchen and the sunlight spilling in the window. An astonishing sense of peace crept over her. Right here, right now, she could believe everything would be all right.

Tony joined her at a table in front. She smiled as she accepted the cup of dark espresso and took her first sip. “Still the best,” she told him. “I grind and blend my own beans, but it’s not the same.”