by Mary Campisi
Pop raised a brow. “And you are?”
The smile spread, lit her face until Lucy looked like an angel. “I am. Yes, I absolutely am.”
4
The last time Anthony Benito landed in Magdalena, he’d gotten caught in a snowstorm that trapped him at Harry Blacksworth’s house for the night. Talk about feeling out of place and uncomfortable. When you stuck your nose up at an entire town, including your father, and your own daughter would rather tell strangers she’s carrying an illegitimate child than admit it to you, well, that’s a real awakening. Call it an epiphany, an enlightenment, call it whatever you wanted; the truth was blinding and painful and it had given Anthony a lot to think about. Like how he didn’t stand for much, how the dreams he’d followed had been someone else’s, and maybe he was the one who wasn’t good enough for the people of Magdalena…or his daughter…or his father…or Ramona Casherdon.
He’d spent weeks trying to figure out where he was headed in life, what he did and didn’t want, waiting for the magic answer that didn’t come. Should he leave his job at the advertising company? Sell the house? Move to the mountains? Maybe he should move back to Magdalena and see what happened with Ramona. It wasn’t like she could kick him out of town, was it? He’d get to spend time with his daughter, real time, not go-to-the-movies-and-sit-side-by-side-without-talking time, but the communicating kind. And when the baby came, maybe he’d be able to help with that, too. Why not? Hell, yes, why not?
But when Teresina Lucinda Benito entered the world, Lucy told him to wait until the baby was older to make the trip, that she had everything she needed right now. She said with all the modern technology available to them, it was almost like being there. Except it wasn’t. You couldn’t smell a baby through a screen or touch her soft hair. You couldn’t do anything but pretend you were there. He’d told Ramona how his daughter’s words hurt, how he wanted to be needed, even if it was to make a grocery store run for diapers. She hadn’t been interested in his pathetic commentary, said if he wanted to feel sorry for himself, he could do it all alone. And then she’d asked why he didn’t hop a plane anyway and surprise Lucy. The answer had been simple and filled with too many years of being an outsider; he couldn’t go somewhere he wasn’t invited, no matter how much he wanted to be there. That answer had not interested her either; he could tell by the long pause and the stilted comments that followed. Anthony had thought about that conversation for days, especially the gaps and the tone in Ramona’s voice that said disappointed and not impressed. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was so worried about being accepted and fitting in that he’d rather not try at all. Damn, that really was pitiful.
And that was the day Anthony changed his life and decided he’d had it with sitting back and watching other people find joy in life while he hesitated for fear he’d get hurt. Everybody got hurt, even the ones who stood on the sidelines. No more sidelines for him. If the snow and winds didn’t kick up, he’d be in Magdalena by dinner, just in time for a big bowl of Pop’s wedding soup and a hunk of Italian bread. He settled back against the padded cushions in first class and smiled. This was going to be the best Christmas yet.
“Do you want to start on the pumpkin rolls next or the sugar cookies?”
Ramona glanced up from the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough she’d just mixed and met Miriam Desantro’s level gaze. This was the second year of the “great bake,” as Harry Blacksworth called it, when those with culinary expertise were invited to the Blacksworth kitchen to prepare food for what had become their annual Christmas party. Word had it Jeremy Ross Dean might be added to the list of invitees, but nobody had confirmed it and Ramona wasn’t about to ask. Who would have believed she’d be working side by side with Miriam Desantro and actually enjoying it? And now, the woman had deferred to her regarding what to bake next? Well, that was impressive and if she allowed herself, she might acknowledge that she was touched. “Why don’t we mix up the sugar cookies first?” Ramona slid the bowl with the chocolate chip cookie batter toward Miriam. “You can get the first batch of these in the oven and then help me.”
“Fine.”
Ramona nodded and pulled out the sugar cookie recipe from the stack on the counter. Neither she nor Miriam were given to chattiness, both preferring to get their work done and leave the comments and the compliments to others, like Harry and Greta Blacksworth. She still hadn’t gotten used to working in the state-of-the-art kitchen with the fancy gadgets and big ovens, but how could she say no to the man who’d helped Cash and Tess with Mason? If not for Harry Blacksworth, that poor couple would still be tormented by the threat of Stephanie Richmond swooping down and plucking the boy from their lives. But Harry had taken care of that. For good.
The morning passed with the whir of mixers and the smell of fresh-baked cookies filling the kitchen. They’d finish the baking this week and if Jeremy Ross Dean showed up to help with the main menu preparation, they’d be well ahead of next week’s party. The party. Yes, except it was more than a party, wasn’t it? Ramona fanned herself as she thought about the event. One breath at a time, just one breath.
“Ramona? Are you okay?”
One more tiny breath and a long exhale. “Yes, of course.” If you only knew…
“You look a little pale. Do you want to sit down?”
Ramona grabbed a tissue from her pocket, swiped it over her forehead. “No, just give me a minute.” She folded the tissue in half, dabbed her forehead and neck.
“Here. Drink this.” Miriam handed her a glass of orange juice. “We should have taken a break earlier. Sometimes I forget that we’re not thirty anymore. I’ll fix you a slice of toast, too.”
“I don’t need—”
“I’m fixing you toast and you’re going to sit while I do it.” She dragged a chair from the other side of the island. “There. Now sit.”
It had been years since anyone cared about what Ramona did or didn’t do. Most of the time, they didn’t even know what she was doing, so how could they care? Except for her nephew. Daniel always cared, but he hadn’t been able to convince her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She liked it that way, liked the independence of being her own person, following her own path, not someone else’s agenda. And now, people were nosing around and some were trying to take care of her. She did not need taken care of and the sooner they realized that, the better. Sweat pricked along her neck, trickled down her back. Damn it, why couldn’t people just leave her alone?
“Here.” Miriam set the plate with toast on the island. “See if this helps.”
Ramona nodded, bit into the toast. A small part of her wanted to tell Miriam that what happened a few minutes ago had nothing to do with age or lack of food. It had to do with the man who would be here in a few hours and the situation she’d found herself in because of him. But she was definitely not admitting that! “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Miriam hesitated as if she might say something else, then picked up the rolling pin she’d abandoned minutes before. “Do you remember Edith Finnegan when she was younger?”
It was Ramona’s turn to hesitate. Miriam Desantro didn’t gossip or share secrets, but asking about Edith Finnegan definitely had to do with the woman’s outburst at St. Gertrude’s the other day. “Edith wasn’t much of a talker, even back then. Kind of shy, kept to herself.” She shrugged, thought about it. “She wasn’t out and out mean, just reserved, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Miriam laughed. “No, indeed there isn’t. We should be so lucky to have more people in this town minding their own business instead of snooping around.”
That made Ramona smile and think of Pop Benito who had a nose for sniffing out trouble and a heart that couldn’t stand to see a person unhappy. “I doubt that’s going to happen.”
“Didn’t she leave town for a while? I think you’d only been here a few years, but I remember Jack being very upset about it.” Miriam sighed, selected a star-shaped cookie cutter and pressed it into the dough. “I had too m
any of my own worries to think about anyone else’s, but…”
She shouldn’t ask, but Edith Finnegan’s outburst made no sense. The woman didn’t talk to anybody, and last Ramona knew, she paid a delivery boy to bring her groceries to the front door. “So, Edith really was trying to stop Phyllis’s wedding?”
“Oh, yes. I was right there, a few feet away, and I still don’t understand what I saw. If Jack hadn’t interrupted and gotten her out of there, I don’t know what would have happened.”
One more question and then Ramona would clamp her mouth shut for the rest of the day. “Did you know she and Phyllis were friends?”
Miriam set down the cookie cutter and shook her head. “That’s probably the strangest revelation of all. There’s never been so much as a peep that Phyllis and Edith ever carried on a simple conversation, let alone shared a secret.”
“And Pop doesn’t know anything about it?”
“Not a thing.”
Well. There wasn’t time to ponder that last comment and what it might or might not mean because Harry Blacksworth burst into the kitchen, eyes bright, face chapped from the cold, a grin on his face. Oh, but the man was a looker and a dapper one at that. He might be full of fancy talk and hot air, but he was kind and good-hearted, and Ramona had more respect for him than for his brother. Harry had embraced their town and the people in it, married the woman he loved, was helping raise her children. What had his brother done? He’d lived his fantasy life a few days a month and spent the rest with his other family. No tough choices, no real decisions. No thank you. The man might have used all the proper words and looked a gentleman, but he had no backbone.
“How are my favorite bakers?” Harry eyed the chocolate chip cookies on the wire rack. “I see you’ve been busy.”
“Hello, Harry.” Miriam smiled and pointed at the wire rack. “Care for a sample?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He snatched up two chocolate chip cookies, stuffed one in his mouth.
“Sugar cookies are going in the oven soon,” Ramona said.
He winked at her and nodded. “You know I can’t resist a good sugar cookie.” Harry paused, asked in a sheepish voice, “Got any icing?”
“Harry Blacksworth, baking is a process and in this process, the icing isn’t a priority.” Miriam acted like she was annoyed but it was hard to get annoyed with a man whose heart and goodwill touched the entire town.
“Oh. But there will be icing, right?”
He sounded like a little boy who’d found an empty cookie jar. “Yes, Harry,” Ramona found herself saying. “There will be icing. Lots of it. Any color you want.” Her lips twitched when she added, “Sprinkles, too.”
Those blue eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Ramona. I talked to Jeremy and the boy agreed to come over and help with the marinara sauce and the lasagna. Manicotti, too. Damn, but I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.” He shrugged out of his winter coat and tossed it on the back of a chair. “I think this year’s Christmas party will be even better than last year’s. Good food, good company—” his blue gaze slid over them “—maybe a surprise or two. Anything can happen at Christmas; you just never know.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the kids have gotten to you and made you softer than a ball of rising dough.” Miriam cocked a brow. “Next you’ll be telling us you heard reindeer on the rooftop.”
“Hey, don’t knock Christmas.” He grinned. “It’s a magical time; that’s what Lizzie tells me every night, and so does your daughter.”
“Lily thinks everything’s magical.” Miriam sighed. “Pop’s garden, snow angels, pizzelles.”
“We should all believe in that kind of magic,” Harry said. “Think about it. Magic in the ordinary. Bet there’d be less indigestion, stress, headaches, and the rest of that crap if we did. But who’s going to take the time for that? Too much work, too much blind faith, right? Maybe one of these days we’ll start listening to our kids and find our own magic.” He shrugged, his expression serious. “Who knows? That’s why we’ve got to depend on kids like Lily and Lizzie to keep us grounded. Or, maybe I’m full of bullshit.” His expression cleared, his voice turned light as he eyed the women and said, “Enough of that, let’s talk food. Don’t forget the Italian wedding cake.”
Miriam threw him one of her how-could-I-forget-that looks and said, “Why exactly is that cake on the menu?”
Harry shrugged, snatched another chocolate chip cookie from the rack, but didn’t quite meet her gaze when he answered. “Greta made it for me a few weeks ago. She knows how much I love coconut and how can you go wrong with butter and pecans? It was game over after the first bite. Plus, I thought Pop might like it, too.”
“Or maybe you’re fooling us and there’s going to be a wedding announcement at your party.” Miriam placed a hand on her hip, eyed him. “What do you think about that possibility, Mr. Matchmaker?”
He did manage to look almost surprised before he burst out laughing. “Now I see where Lily gets her imagination. Did you ever think about becoming a writer?” When she tossed a dishtowel at him, he caught it and flung it aside. “I’m not joking. The world needs more dreamers and creators and you’re already a painter and a woodworker. Why not add one more talent to that box of tricks?”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick with paint and wood.” She sprinkled flour over a ball of cookie dough and worked her rolling pin with fast, steady strokes. “Still, you had me wondering about the cake and the possibilities.” She let out a soft laugh. “I keep thinking Lucy Benito and Jeremy Ross Dean are going to tie the knot, and with Anthony heading to town, it seemed logical.” Miriam glanced at Ramona. “Don’t you think so?”
Ramona kept her voice even and her gaze on the bowl of flour in front of her. “I wouldn’t know.”
Anthony parked the rental car in Ramona’s driveway, tightened the scarf around his neck, and stepped out of the car. Winter wasn’t going to get him this year because he’d come prepared with subzero gear, though the boots he’d ordered online were sitting in a box at his father’s house. He slipped and slid up the drive and onto Ramona’s front stoop, wishing he’d had the damn boots mailed to her house, but how could he have known she’d call him at the last minute with a request to see him before he went to his father’s? Not that he minded, but it did make him curious. And a little worried. Ramona wasn’t into shows of affection or appearances of dependency. She liked to go it alone and didn’t hesitate to let him know she was her own woman; had been and always would be. Fine, but didn’t she want to be her own woman with him? That comment always made her voice soften and spill over the phone like warm honey.
He sure would be glad when this long-distance “relationship” stopped being long distance. Maybe they’d spend time on the West Coast during the winter months, or take a cruise, or head to Australia. Didn’t matter, as long as they were together. Anthony stomped the snow from his shoes, lifted a hand to knock on the door when it flew open, and Ramona Casherdon, love of his life, stood before him, a vision in black with a long braid and gold hoop earrings. But there was something different about her, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Was she wearing lipstick? Had she dyed her hair? Lost weight? What was it?
“Are you going to stand there staring at me or do you want to come inside before you freeze?”
At least she still sounded like the Ramona he knew. Anthony laughed and stepped inside. Her entire house would fit into his kitchen and dining room, but he didn’t care. A house was just a house unless it was filled with people you loved. “Come here,” he said, moving toward her, arms open wide.
A smile inched over her lips, slow, sultry, welcoming. “I’ve missed you.” She stepped into his embrace, pressed her body against his, kissed him in a way that told him she’d not only missed him but wanted to get close to him. That was a very welcome revelation.
“Ramona,” he breathed against her lips. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since the last time I touched you.” He ran his fingers along her back, stroked the
softness of her hips. “I love you so damn much.”
She cupped his face with both hands, met his gaze, dark eyes glistening with tears. “And I love you, Tony. After all these years, I’m not afraid to admit it.” Her lips pulled into a smile and she said again, “I love you.”
When she spoke those words, his chest ached, threatened to burst. They were so close to finally being together, just a few more days and a visit to the courthouse. If everything went as planned, there would be a huge Christmas surprise in Magdalena this year. “I will never tire of hearing that.” He trailed a finger along her jaw, slid it down her neck to the opening of her blouse. He’d always loved her breasts: full, round, with dusky nipples. Perfect.
“When is your father expecting you?”
The softness in her voice said she was asking a helluva lot more than when he had to be at his father’s. “I told him I’d be there for supper.” His gaze slid to the opening of her blouse. “But delays happen all the time.”
She reached for the top button of her blouse, released it. “Yes, they do, don’t they?”
Anthony made it to his father’s long past suppertime, but the old man did nothing more than slide him the eye and rub his jaw, as if he knew why Anthony was late and wasn’t about to let on whether he approved or disapproved. Wasn’t that just like the man? Collect data, study, deduce, but don’t show your hand or your thoughts. Well, Anthony didn’t care because he loved Ramona and they were getting married. The ring was in his pocket and he planned to give it to her tomorrow after they returned from the courthouse to file for their marriage license. Would she like the ring or would she call it over-the-top ridiculous? Okay, so it was a little large, but she deserved it and she was going to get it. But you never knew how she’d react or what surprises she had in store—a smile slipped over his lips—not all of them bad. Memories of the surprises she’d shared with him in bed a few hours ago poured over him, scorched his brain and his private parts. The woman was full of passion, just like she’d been all those years ago.
