Rush to the Altar

After thanking him for the information, Riley left for the charming hill town overlooking the Tiber where he’d received his first formal schooling. It had all been thanks to Mitra who knew his father had been drinking heavily again after his third wife left him.

Though Mitra shied away from schooling, she’d said Riley was a Gadja, an outsider, and Gadjas belonged in the classroom.

Now he understood why she’d suggested that particular town. Years before her Gypsy heritage had brought her ancestors to the old Etruscan settlement that had become Perugia. The people who’d housed and fed Riley during those years his father struggled had been Mitra’s extended family.

At first he’d fought his schooling and had gotten into serious trouble on several occasions. But with hindsight he realized she’d done him an enormous favor. He’d learned history and math, and of course how to speak fluent Italian.

None of that could have been accomplished without money which Riley’s father didn’t have. That meant someone else had to have put up the funds, probably at great personal sacrifice. Only one person would have cared enough about Riley to do that.

Once he’d revisited his old haunts, one of the men he remembered recognized him and gave him directions to her apartment. Thankful she was still alive, he hurried to her door and knocked. A deep voice called out in Romany, “Who’s there?”

He answered back in kind. “Your Gadja child!”

In a moment Mitra opened the door. She was a medium sized woman in her late seventies now. She wore a familiar looking purple scarf around her hair which was turning white, but her black eyes were as alert as ever. They studied him with the same intensity that used to make him feel guilty if he’d done something wrong.

“You—” she whispered as if she’d seen a ghost.

He smiled. “You remember.” He handed her a bouquet of lavender flowers he’d bought at a stall near the bottom of the hill.

She clutched them to her bosom. “Who could forget such a beautiful face? Now you are a beautiful man.”

With her free hand she touched his cheek where the skin had been grafted. “I saw you in the tea leaves. I saw fire. Life has been hard for you.”

“My father died last year.”

She nodded, “I know. Come in.”

Though modest, her place appeared comfortable. She’d decorated the living room in the same vivid purple color he recalled seeing in her tsara.

“Sit down.”

Riley complied while she put the flowers in a vase on her small dining table. Then she sank into the black hand-painted rocking chair he’d admired as a youngster. “How is it you have come to call on an old woman after all this time?”

“I meant to visit you long before now, but circumstances made it impossible.”

“Life with your father has taken its toll on you.”

“Let’s not talk about me. You look well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You always were a good liar. You see the picture of us there? I felt good then.”

Riley glanced at the framed photograph propped on the end table. The two of them had sat on a bench inside a doorless closet hooked up with a camera that took their picture at the carnival. He’d been six years old. She’d had black hair. A lump lodged in his throat to think she’d kept that photo all this time.

“I took care of you from the age of two until seventeen when your father left the circus and dragged you away. He should have left you with me.”

With that statement he realized what a wrench that must have been for Mitra who’d never married or had children of her own.

“My father needed me too much and was jealous of my relationship with you. But even if he took me thousands of miles away, I always missed you. Did you get the postcards I sent you through the circus?”

She motioned to a black lacquered basket sitting on a bookshelf. He walked over to it and looked inside. It appeared she’d kept all of them.

Pleased to know she’d received them he said, “Why didn’t you get one of your family members to help you write back? I always left an address where you could reach me.”

“I didn’t want to give your father any more reasons to make your life miserable.”

Mitra had understood everything.

“When he didn’t drink, he was all right.”

“You deserved better,” she muttered.

Riley took a deep breath before reaching in his pocket for an envelope. Enclosed was Italian lire amounting to five thousand dollars. Anything more and he knew she wouldn’t accept it. He put it on the table next to the picture.

“What is that?”

He stared into her eyes. “I know what you did. No amount of money in the world could compensate for the mother’s love you gave to me. This represents a small token of my affection for you.”

Like Sister Francesca, she turned her head to hide her emotions. Whether disciplined saint or stoic Gypsy, both were women with hearts bigger than their bodies. Riley had been the lucky recipient.

“You once told me that if you could have your wish, you would buy fresh lavender flowers for your tsara every day. This apartment isn’t the exciting Gypsy wagon I used to play in. It needs flowers. Now you can buy all you want.”

After an extended silence she fastened haunted eyes on him. “You are in a great hurry, rushing down a path even more dangerous than the one before.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Did you read death in the tea leaves for me, too?”

Her expression grew fierce. She made a fist and pounded her breast. “Without a woman in your life, you’re already dead here.”

“There’ve been plenty of women.”

A guttural sound came from her throat. “You think I don’t know that? But they’re always the wrong kind for my Gadja!”

“There was one exception,” he drawled. “But it turns out she didn’t want me.”

“You mean she had too much respect for herself to fight a duel over you like those two she-cats? Good for her!”

“You have to admit that duel was really something.” He grinned.

“Go ahead and laugh, but remember it was I who had to get you out of that filthy prison after the police carted the three of you off.”

“I could always depend on you, Mitra. You know what the problem was? You were too old for me to marry,” he teased her the way he’d done Sister Francesca.

She pushed her hand away as if to say, enough! “I have lived too long to find out you are still tormented. Go—”

Mitra always meant what she said. Nothing about her had changed except that she was twelve years older than the last time he’d seen her. He rose to his feet. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back.”

“Do not come again unless you bring me news I want to hear.”

His expression sobered. “Unfortunately that’s the one wish I can’t promise to grant you.”

CHAPTER TWO

SINCE Ann’s last visit to Turin, a new sign in Italian spanned the two posts of the gate leading into the wooded property where Callie lived with her husband and worked.

Valentino Animal And Bird Preserve.

Lower down on one of the posts was another sign printed in Italian, English, French, German and Spanish.

This preserve is open and free to the public 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., Monday through Saturday. Stay on the indicated paths. Do not touch or feed the wildlife.

Please bring any homeless animals or birds who are sick or injured to the hospital by following the arrows. The hospital is open twenty-four hours.

After Ann had flown in from Los Angeles last evening, she’d gone straight to bed with a migraine. She always got one on a long plane ride. But this afternoon she was feeling much better and decided to take two-and-half-month-old Anna for a walk in her stroller before she got hungry for her next bottle.

To Ann’s amusement, Chloe, her sister’s pug, and Valentino, Nicco’s boxer, decided to join her.

The four of them had started out along a private footpath at the rear of the small Baroque palace which eventually led through a security gate to the street. From there they circled partway round the property until she came to the public entrance to the preserve.

Following the arrows she headed for the eighteenth century hunting lodge located on the former royal estate. It had been converted to a hospital and stables. Callie did the main of her veterinarian work there.

When any animals or birds were dropped off with special nursing needs, she took them to the west wing of the palace. Nicco had remodeled several of the rooms into a kennel to board the sick or injured wildlife during their convalescence.

If the animal or bird could be saved, Callie brought them back to health. Then they were freed to live in the huge preserve with its giant trees, greenery and small fresh water lakes donated to the public by Nicco’s younger brother Enzo, the ruling prince of the House of Tescotti.

Though Ann’s agent had given her a hard time about her former willingness to do anything to get noticed by a talent scout, she wasn’t sorry she’d entered for the Who Wants to Marry a Prince? benefit.

In begging Callie to take Ann’s place at the last second because of an emergency, her sister had ended up married to the elder Tescotti prince who’d renounced his title so he could lead a normal life. Callie and Nicco were now a divinely happy working couple with a precious daughter and two pets they doted on.

Ann wanted that same kind of happiness. After being around them again last night, she realized she needed to end it with Colin. He had many wonderful qualities, but the fire simply wasn’t there. To go on seeing him would be cruel. For both their sakes it was time to end it.

Only one man had ever made her feel she was about to go up in flames, and he’d been able to accomplish that by simply looking at her with those silvery eyes. But he was the kind of man who set every woman’s heart on fire. A rogue she’d instinctively known was not husband material.

She may have made a lot of mistakes in her life, but getting involved with Don Juan incarnate wasn’t one of them, thank heaven!

While she stood there on the path wondering how to tell Colin the truth so it would hurt him the least, Valentino forged ahead. He knew exactly where to find his mistress. Chloe followed wherever Valentino went, prancing like a deer.

“Come on, Anna. We’re going to have to hurry to catch up with them.”

Halfway to the lodge she saw a dark head peer around the trunk of a massive chestnut tree. It was a boy of olive complexion and curly black hair who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. He was too thin for the worn-out white T-shirt and baggy pants he was wearing. His solemn black eyes swallowed up his piquant face.

Intrigued, she called out “Buon Giorno!” in her best Italian. Ever since her sister’s marriage, she’d been studying the beautiful language on the side. If Callie was already speaking it fluently, so could she in time.

Her greeting must have frightened him because he disappeared behind the tree without saying anything. He was supposed to stay on the path. No doubt he’d come to the preserve without supervision. Taking it upon herself to investigate, she let go of the stroller.

Before she could reach him, he darted off in another direction, making it impossible for her to catch up to him. As she turned on her heel to get back to Anna, she saw a small black basket with a lid at the base of the tree. It wasn’t like any workmanship she’d ever seen.

Curious, she picked it up and lifted the lid to see inside. As far as she could tell it was a baby squirrel, but it lay so still she had no idea if it was alive or not.

Had the boy come on his own to the preserve hoping for someone to help save it?

She looked all around for any sign of him. Except for the sound of birdsong and insects whirring about, nothing moved.

Tucking the basket under her arm, she walked over to the stroller and continued pushing it to the hospital.

Instead of entering the lodge through the main entrance to the waiting room, she went around to a private side door used by hospital personnel. It opened to an entry way leading into the surgery.

“There you are!” she spoke to the dogs as she opened the door for them to enter. The swinging door to the surgery had a window. She saw Callie over at the sink.

Ann tapped on the glass. When her sister spied her, she came out to the hall with a smile wreathing her face.

“All my favorite people!” She scratched the dogs’ heads and gave her sleeping baby a kiss. Then she lifted her head to look at Ann. “What have you got under your arm?”

With a brief explanation about the boy, she handed her sister the basket. “Obviously he was too shy to come all the way to the hospital. I hope it’s not too late for the squirrel.”

“I’ll check it right now.”

“While you do that, I’ll take everyone home and start dinner. You did say there was chicken in the fridge.”

“Yes. Nicco loves it roasted with carrots and potatoes.”

“Mom’s old recipe?”

Callie nodded.

“That’ll be a cinch.”

“Put Anna in the swing so she can watch you. I should be home in time to feed her.”

“Okay. Let’s go everybody.”

After leaving the lodge, she pushed the stroller back to the palace. The dogs raced on ahead, reminding her of horses who knew where the stable was and couldn’t wait any longer for their oats and water.

Almost to the steps of the west wing, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Something told her the boy had been following them, which meant he’d seen her drop off the basket at the hospital.

She felt a little tug at her heart. The squirrel couldn’t be his pet because it was still a newborn. No doubt he had visions of raising it until it was full grown and would follow him around.

Through Callie, Ann had learned that people developed attachments to all kinds of undomesticated animals like iguanas and wombats. A squirrel didn’t sound nearly so strange, especially if a boy’s playground was the woods.

Growing up in farm country, Ann and Callie had been enamored of everything from baby chicks and calves to new foals. But if something went wrong with one of them, it was Callie who always wanted to doctor them.

Ann was a little squeamish in that department. One of her favorite pursuits was to spend time in her bedroom with their family dog. It was there she made up little plays she performed in front of him. He had to be a better audience than any human as he sat there watching and listening in adoration while his tail moved back and forth on the floor.

Good old Jasper. First he’d died, then their dad, then their mom. The home she and her sister had once known and cherished was gone.

With a heavy sigh she hurried inside with the dogs to take care of Anna and start dinner, very much aware that this was Callie’s home, Callie’s and Nicco’s. Ann needed to make one of her own.

The problem was, you needed the right ingredients to come together at the right time and place.

So far that hadn’t happened. Maybe it never would…

Getting closer to thirty every day with no man in her life she wanted to be the father of her children, plus a short-lived acting career in serious jeopardy, Ann realized she needed to do something about her situation.

If she were careful, she could live three more years on the money she’d made from her last picture. That would give her time to start looking for a job. Maybe she could teach. Might as well put her English degree and acting experience to some use.

Tomorrow morning she’d get up early and put out some feelers over the Internet in Callie’s office.

On the outskirts of Turin, Riley found a compound of buildings that had to be the Danelli manufacturing plant. However until he saw the name in small letters on the glass door of the main structure, he would never have guessed he’d come to the right place.

Everything was locked up and the parking lot looked deserted. That didn’t surprise him. It was ten after five in the evening. He’d tried to get here sooner, but after his flight from Rome there’d been a long delay picking up his rental car. The only thing to do was find a hotel for the night and return in the morning.

He walked back to the car and drove around the complex hoping to spot a worker or night watchman who could tell him when the best time would be to speak to the owner.

Luca Danelli wasn’t listed in the telephone directory. All Riley could find was the name of the company and a phone number that reached a recording with only one option: leave a message and someone would return the call as soon as possible.

For what Riley had in mind, he needed the right live body. Nothing else would do.

Disappointed because no one was about, he whipped around the other end of the complex to leave the cluster of buildings the way he’d come in. That’s when he caught a glint of red in the periphery and stood on his brakes.

A tall, well-honed male in a black helmet, gloves and leather jacket was just pushing a motorcycle out of a door marked private in Italian. Riley’s eyes fastened on the fire-engine-red bike. It was an NT-1, the pro racing model that was blowing all the competition out of the water according to the article in the magazine Bart had given him.

Riley shut off the motor, grabbed the copy of International Motorcycle World lying on the seat next to him and levered himself from the car.

The man in the helmet had seen him. He raised his shield. As Riley approached him, he was met by a pair of penetrating black eyes that studied him with guarded interest.

“The plant is closed. What can I do for you, signore?”

His Italian, as well as his whole demeanor, spoke of an aristocratic background, especially the way he’d phrased the question in civil tones to couch his demand. Riley was immediately intrigued.

Whoever this man was, he gave off an aura of someone so sure of himself, nothing fazed him. In an instant Riley realized he’d never met anyone like him. Instinct also told him something else. This was a person who welcomed a dangerous situation and would always come out the winner.

“My name is Riley Garrow,” he answered in fluent Italian. “I’ve just flown in from the States to see Signore Danelli about a job. I came directly from the airport hoping he’d still be at work.”

After a brief pause, “I’m afraid that’s impossible now. The Danelli family buried him a week ago.” The pathos in his voice revealed the two men had been close.

Riley’s spirits sank like lead. “I had no idea. There was nothing about it in the news.”

“The family has asked the press to hold the story until his only son who was injured in a serious small plane accident recovers enough to be told the truth.”

“I’m sorry for them, and sorry for me,” Riley murmured. “For years I’ve wanted to meet the man whose genius built the Danelli-Strada bike. My father taught me how to ride on a Danelli. Before he died, he refused to ride anything else and cursed the day the company went out of business.”

He held up the magazine. “When I read Signore Danelli had started manufacturing bikes in Turin instead of Milan, I got on the next plane out of L.A.”

The other man eyed him speculatively. “Who was your father?”

“You wouldn’t know him. His name was Rocky Garrow.”

“Rocky…” he muttered, “as in The Human Rocket?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Riley blinked in surprise.

“Of course. I thought your last name sounded familiar. As far as I’m concerned, he was the star of the Rimini Traveling Circus that came through Turin every spring. When I was a boy I couldn’t wait to watch him do his motorcycle stunts over all those barrels. He looked exactly like a rocket in that shiny silver suit he wore!”

Riley smiled sadly. He’d given that suit and the other costumes to Bart who’d put them in storage for safekeeping. “When I got old enough to realize he wasn’t immortal, I’m afraid I didn’t want to watch.” There were a lot of things he hadn’t wanted to watch…

“I can understand that,” he answered in a low, quiet voice. “I remember reading about his death doing a stunt over Iguasu Falls in Brazil last year. I’m sorry for your loss. He was part of the reason I fell in love with motorcycles in the first place.”

Upon that admission Riley felt an intangible bond with the man.

He could scarcely believe this person had seen his father perform. He looked to be in his thirties, only a few years older than Riley. How strange to think of him as a boy in the audience while Riley waited anxiously behind the tent flap for his father to survive another jump.

“It was his time to go. He died on his old Danelli, doing the only thing that made him happy.”

“Would that we could all bow out of this world the same way. It’s a pleasure to meet the son of the man who gave me so many thrills in my youth. My name’s Nicco Tescotti.” He removed his glove so they could shake hands.

Nicco Tescotti?

“According to the magazine article, you’re the CEO. I presume Signore Danelli’s death puts you at the head of the company now. This is a singular honor for me, but not a good time for you with such heavy responsibilities. Forgive the intrusion.”

As he turned to leave he heard, “Do you ride as well as your father did?”

Riley spun around. “Better!”

They both grinned.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“What’s that?” Riley fired back, too full of elation to consider his bodily needs for the moment.

“I prefer to discuss important business over a good meal. If you have no other plans for this evening, why not follow me home where we can relax and talk.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t. My wife loves motorcycles as much as you and I do.”

Riley smiled once more. Maybe he was dreaming. “She sounds remarkable, but she still might not want to be surprised.”

“Half the time she surprises me.”

“How so?”

“She’s a vet. When I get home, more often than not she’s brought a baby something or other from the surgery we have to nurse through the night. And then of course there’s our daughter Anna who’s two and half months old. She’s hungry for her breakfast at the crack of dawn which in turn wakes up the dogs.

“I’m afraid ours is not a conventional marriage.” He got on his bike. “But I love it,” he added with enough emotion for Riley to know Nicco Tescotti was one happy man.

“If we should get separated, ask anyone for directions to the Valentino Animal and Bird Preserve. The security guard at the gate will tell you where to go from there.”

After closing his shield, he started up his bike. Riley chased after him in the rental car.

He recognized a pro racer when he saw one.

Though they might not be on the track, Nicco Tescotti rode with the kind of flawless precision and technique only a handful of the world’s top racers demonstrated.

Riley tried to figure the odds of running into the new head of the Danelli company, let alone being invited to his home for a job interview. They had to be in the billion to one category.

“Keep saying those prayers, Sister,” he whispered to the air as he stayed on the other man’s tail.

Their journey followed the river back to the city. They’d been passing several miles of woods and verdant parkland when Nicco slowed down and signaled before making a right turn into a private driveway with a security guard at the gate.

Riley did the same. The guard nodded him on through.

Once past the thick hedge, he marveled at the cathedral-like atmosphere of trees and shrubbery as the path wound its way deeper and deeper into the greenery. But he didn’t know real surprise until he glimpsed a small Baroque palace beyond the dense foliage.

Nicco came to a stop at the entrance to the west wing where several other cars were parked. He climbed off his motorcycle.

Riley blinked. He lived here?

As he got out of the rental car, two dogs came racing out to greet their master. One was a fawn-colored boxer with white feet who jumped up on Nicco’s leg. The other was a toy pug. It stayed at a distance and barked with ferocity until Nicco removed his helmet to reveal hair as black as Riley’s. Then the pug leaped toward him.