Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart. Barbara McMahon
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she said.
“I like making a difference.” A ready answer. It didn’t explore the variety of reasons he chose fighting fires as compared to police work or mountain rescue. But all were similar kinds of jobs—first responders, never knowing what would await them. Challenges to be surmounted. Never boring.
She smiled, her eyes sparkling silver. Her hair shone in the sunshine pouring in through the side window.
Cristiano had a stronger urge to reach out and twirl some of those tresses around his fingers, feeling the silky softness, the heat from each warm strand. Those desires rose each time he saw her.
“Did your father want you to do something else?” she asked.
“Probably, though he never pressured any of us. My sister works with him at the family restaurant. My brother Valentino is home less than I am.”
“Is your brother Valentino Casali? The racing daredevil?” She looked surprised.
Cristiano nodded. He knew Valentino had a reputation to match his daredevil ways. For the first time he wondered if their decisions had hurt their father. He took such pride in Rosa. It was a fine restaurant, but only Isabella had followed their father’s path and worked in the family establishment.
“He got married recently, I saw that somewhere,” she said. “Not my idea of a married man.”
Cristiano shrugged. “What would be your idea of a married man?”
“Someone faithful.”
“Valentino is fiercely loyal. He would always be faithful,” Cristiano was quick to say.
“I’d also want my husband home more than he seems to be. And safe.”
“Maybe now that he has a home and wife, he’ll change. People do, you know.”
She nodded.
“Other attributes?”
She frowned in thought for a moment. “Fun to be with, able to talk and share, and I’d want a husband to want the same things I do.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it for a while.”
“Ariana and I used to talk about our dream man. Hers turned out not to be the dream.”
“And you?”
“Haven’t met him yet. So what do you do here all day? Not working. No television I saw,” she asked.
“This and that.” He should tell her about the woodworking. Maybe later he’d take her to the shed to see.
“Did you always want to be a virtual assistant?” he asked, finding it an odd sort of job for such a bubbling personality like hers. He’d picture her surrounded by office workers, working as a team player, not in a solo job from home.
“When in university in New York, I planned to hit Madison Avenue big time. I majored in marketing—American style. But then my parents died, then Ariana. Things changed so much, I couldn’t manage that on top of watching Dante. Maybe someday.”
“I think I heard the baby,” he said, hearing a noise in the living room.
Mariella jumped to her feet and went to check on Dante. Two minutes later she came back, carrying a bubbling baby.
“He was kicking his feet and saying something. I can’t wait for him to talk.”
“I’ll start our lunch. I’ll make you some of the world’s best marinara sauce.”
“The world’s best?” she scoffed lightly.
“Hey, I challenge you to find better. It’s from the family’s restaurant. And you’ll thank your lucky stars you get to have some.”
“You made it?”
“No. My sister sends me care packages. I freeze the sauce until I’m ready to use it. It won’t take long to prepare.”
“Time enough for me to feed this little guy, then,” she said.
“Again?”
“He eats a lot, that’s why he’s growing.”
Cristiano took the sauce from the freezer, peeled off the wrapper and dropped it into a pan. Soon it began to simmer on the stove as he boiled water for pasta. He watched Mariella feed Dante while he worked. For the first time in months, he felt a touch of optimism. There was something about cooking long-familiar foods and sharing that touched that part of him that had once liked to spend time with friends. Stephano had loved the marinara sauce and every time he learned Isabella had sent some, he’d invite himself and his family over for dinner. He and the other guys at the station urged him to bring in enough for everyone.
For once the memory of his friend and the time they’d shared didn’t hurt with the searing pain of loss. It was a bittersweet memory of times that would never come again. He missed his friend and probably always would.
But life went on. Stephano had loved life so much, he would have personally come to Lake Clarissa and knocked some sense into his head if he’d known Cristiano was secluding himself like this.
Except—the flashbacks were real.
Mariella’s laugh pulled him from his thoughts and he looked up. The baby had something smeared all over his face, and his pudgy hands were spreading the mess to his hair.
“What is that?”
“Some kind of oatmeal cereal. The pediatrician is having me try it. Probably tastes like paste and feels better spread around outside than eating,” she said, trying to catch Dante’s hands to wipe them. She giggled. “He’s a mess. I’m thinking this is not one of the better ideas the doctor had.”
“You think? Hey, little man, would you like some of my papa’s sauce?”
“He’s not even six months yet. Too young for big people food.”
“A taste won’t hurt.” Cristiano dipped his pinkie into the warming sauce and then carried it to the baby. Dante grabbed his hand and pulled it to his mouth. His frown of surprise had them both laughing.
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Cristiano said.
The baby had eaten and Mariella settled him on a thick blanket on the floor when Cristiano served up their lunch.
“Wow, this was definitely worth waiting for,” Mariella said after her first bite. “What makes it so great?”
“Family secret,” he said.
“Ah. I bet Rosa has a line waiting for tables every night.”
“The economy these days makes things unsettled. It does well enough, I think.” Actually, from one or two comments Isabella had made, Cristiano wondered if that was true. Maybe he should check into it. If there was a problem, he might be able to help financially; he had some money saved.
“I know people are cutting back, but good food is always relished.”
“My sister has been pestering me to talk about the situation for a while. It’s her area, not mine. Whatever she decides is fine with me.”
“Um. I just hope she decides to keep making this wonderful sauce. Does she sell it by the jar?”
He shook his head.
“She should. Maybe I can talk to her about that. She could consider an Internet mail-order business on the side. I bet folks would pay a premium. It obviously freezes well. I wonder how it could be shipped?”
“Ever the marketer?”
She nodded, but continued to look thoughtful.
“You said you went to university in New York? What was that like? Why there?”
“My dad was American, but he settled in Rome ages ago. Ever since I can remember the plan was for me to