5

      Rafe had expected to be back in New York by Monday. Unfortunately, Gina showed every sign of sticking to her guns and staying in Winding River for a full two weeks. He’d hoped that his pestering would eventually wear her down, but she was clearly stubborn. Maybe that trait was also the reason she hadn’t given in to the inevitable and shuttered Café Tuscany already.

      He had been true to his word on Sunday. He’d steered clear of her, though he hadn’t been able to resist taking a stroll through the park where the reunion attendees were gathered for their picnic. Gina had been playing baseball at the time, looking more carefree than she had since arriving in Wyoming. He regretted being the one responsible for putting a perpetual frown on her face, the worry lines between her eyes, but he had a job to do, whether he liked it or not.

      Since it looked like he was stuck here, he had no choice but to call his office and have his appointments shifted to other partners or postponed until his return.

      Even as he dialed, he was dreading the third degree he was likely to get from his meddlesome secretary.

      “Have you made contact yet?” Lydia asked in an undertone, as if he were on some sort of secret mission.

      “Yes, I have ‘made contact,’” Rafe said impatiently. “How are things on that end? Any word from the investigator on Rinaldi’s whereabouts?”

      “Nothing. Charlie Flynn says the man has vanished. He’s probably basking in the sun on a beach in the Cayman Islands by now.”

      “Entirely possible,” Rafe agreed. “What’s the deal on the restaurant? Have you been by there?”

      “It was operating at full capacity last night. I checked it myself. Gina’s assistant has everything running smoothly. The veal piccata was as superb as ever.”

      “Did I pay for your dinner?”

      “No, but now that you mention it, that’s a very good idea. After all, it seems I was spying for you.”

      “If that’s what you were doing, you must not be very good at it. You’re not giving me anything I can use, Lydia.”

      “Because there’s nothing to pass along. All I can say is that it’s a shame that jerk’s actions might bankrupt the place.”

      “Is the word out about Bobby skipping town?”

      “It wasn’t in any of the society columns, and Deidre, that’s Gina’s assistant, acted as if everything were perfectly normal. If there was any buzz about their problems, I certainly didn’t hear it.” She hesitated, then said, “You know, if you just stopped bugging her, I think Gina could keep the place open and pay back all the money Bobby stole. Not that she should have to, if you ask me, but I suppose somebody is obligated to make good on the investors’ losses. Why not at least give her a chance?”

      “If she’s guilty of conspiring with her partner—”

      “She’s not,” Lydia retorted, cutting him off. “I wish you’d just use that supposedly stellar gut instinct of yours where she’s concerned. Have you spent a single minute with her? If you had, you’d know she’s no thief.”

      Maybe not, Rafe thought, but he refused to give his know-it-all secretary the satisfaction of admitting that just yet. Then there was the very intriguing question of how Gina was keeping the place afloat on her own. Assuming she wasn’t involved in the scam—which he still considered to be a sizable leap—she had to be hurting financially.

      Then again, Lauren Winters probably had very deep pockets. Even though Gina had insisted she wasn’t going to burden her friends with her problems, maybe she had lied. Maybe Lauren was quietly bailing her friend out of her financial difficulties. Rafe wondered if he owed the actress a warning about what a risky venture she’d be getting into. Unfortunately, based on past experience, he had a hunch she wouldn’t take the news well and that she’d manage to turn him into the bad guy.

      “Lydia, cancel my appointments for the next two weeks. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

      “You’re staying?” she asked, sounding more pleased than shocked. “Why?”

      “Because Gina is staying.”

      “How are you and Gina getting along?”

      “Let’s just say nobody’s likely to nominate us for couple of the year.” He tried to keep the regret out of his voice when he said it.

      Apparently he’d succeeded, because Lydia sighed heavily. “Then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were,” she said. “Romantically speaking, of course.”

      “Of course,” he said wryly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

      “You’ve been doing it for seven years. I should be used to it,” she said with weary resignation. “But I keep holding out hope that one of these days you’ll come to your senses, find a woman who can put up with you and settle down.”

      She paused, then added, “Now would be a good time, Rafe. You’re not getting any younger, and you could do a whole lot worse than Gina Petrillo.”

      “So you’ve mentioned—more than once, as a matter of fact.”

      “It bears repeating,” she said. “Bye, boss.”

      “Goodbye, Lydia. Hopefully they’ll appreciate your humor in the unemployment line.”

      “Your threats don’t bother me.”

      “I know. I know. All those bodies,” he said and hung up. If only he could find a few of the skeletons in her closet. A woman as cheeky as Lydia was bound to have dozens of them.

      * * *

      If he was going to stay in Winding River, Rafe couldn’t keep wearing the same clothes, especially since the only dry cleaner in town seemed to have a quirky disregard for customer service. Whoever owned the business apparently opened when he felt like it. If he had regular hours, they weren’t posted, and Rafe had yet to see the lights on in the business.

      The only clothing store in town offered Western wear. Rafe resigned himself to a new wardrobe of jeans he’d rarely have the opportunity to wear once he got back to New York. His closet was filled with practical suits and three tuxedos for all of the charity events he was duty-bound to attend because his partners’ wives served on the boards and the fund-raising committees.

      He left the hotel, walked down Main Street and was about to go into the clothing store when he spotted Emma Rogers accompanied by a little girl, who looked as if she might be about six. Emma frowned when she saw him.

      “Still here, Mr. O’Donnell?” Emma asked, her tone not especially friendly. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

      “I’m afraid my business is taking longer than I’d hoped.”

      Her gaze narrowed. “What exactly is your business?”

      Before he could respond, Gina came darting out of the café across the street and pointedly got between them. Ignoring the two adults, she hunkered down to give the little girl a hug.

      “Caitlyn Rogers, you are getting so big I hardly recognized you. How old are you now? Ten?”

      The child giggled. “No, Aunt Gina, I’m only six.”

      “I can’t believe it.” She leaned closer. “I think Stella has your pancakes on the griddle. Do you want to run on over there so you can get