by JoAnn Durgin
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Thank You
Starlight, Star Bright
JoAnn Durgin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Starlight, Star Bright
COPYRIGHT 2013 by JoAnn Durgin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
Contact Information: [email protected]
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2013
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-337-7
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my family, as always, thank you for your many sacrifices, patience, understanding and love. What a blessing you are.
To Maria Battista Hancock, my lovely friend, thank you for your willingness to assist with my translation relative to your native Italian, a language both beautiful and romantic.
A heartfelt thank you to my faithful readers for your encouragement, loyalty and prayers as I move forward in this exciting journey as a Christian author.
Thank you to Nicola Martinez and Fay Lamb of Pelican Book Group for your faith in these characters and bringing their story of hope and love to readers.
Above all, I praise and thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, for His infinite grace and mercy. What an honor and privilege it is to share His love with you.
Blessings,
JoAnn Durgin
Matthew 5:16
.
1
The look. Dante had seen it enough to recognize the telltale signs.
The woman’s blue eyes widened, and her jaw slacked before the bell on the door stopped jingling. Wearing an apron embroidered with Barney’s Diner across the front, she paused in the middle of cleaning the counter. The gleam in the eye he’d nicknamed “the dawn of understanding” should surface next. Followed by the inevitable question, “Excuse me, but aren’t you…?”
If he could put off her questions long enough, he’d have time to gulp down a cup of something hot and caffeinated and eat a decent meal before blowing back out of town on a breeze as blustery as the one that carried him into tiny Starlight, Iowa. Dante shivered. Would he ever be warm again?
“Welcome to Barney’s.” A grin creased the woman’s lips.
He removed his Stetson, clasping it with near-frozen fingers. “Buona sera.”
“Menu’s on the counter. I’ll be over in a couple of minutes to take your order.”
“Grazie, signora.” He dropped onto a counter stool, parked the dark brown hat on the adjacent seat, and rubbed his hands together to coax them back to life. If he'd possessed the gift of foresight, he’d have stopped somewhere and bought a pair of thermal gloves. Living in Italy must have numbed his brain.
After opening the menu, he perused the offerings. The names of the specialties were plenty interesting: Jake’s Jumpin’ (or Julia’s Tame) Chili, Ben’s Boatload of Beef Burger (Antacids on the Side), Hannah’s Broccoli’s-Really-Good-For-You Soup, Pastor Ted’s Heavenly Ham & Swiss Sandwich, Angie and Harry’s (No Bones) Chicken Soup and Dylan’s Where’s-The-Fire? Burrito. With names like that, there had to be some fun stories and people behind them. That kind of thing made small-town living special.
Dante closed the menu and stacked it with the others on the counter, resolved to order whatever was available and quick. He surveyed the place. Nice little diner, well-maintained and quiet. The black and white checkerboard floor was accented by red vinyl seats on the chairs, booths, and counter stools. A handful of customers spoke in low tones and darted curious glances his way. Although he turned aside, he sensed the eyes on his back, the speculative whispers.
The better option might have been a fast food drive-thru, but the billboard advertising Barney’s Diner a few miles back on the highway had captured his attention. Good thing, since he’d been distracted by aching muscles. Hunching over the steering wheel for hours could do that to a guy. Otherwise, he might have missed Starlight altogether. He did have a reason to stop at Barney’s, after all. The letter. Dante patted the inner pocket of his jacket and breathed a sigh of relief. Still there.
“No one’s a stranger in Starlight,” the woman said, coming back around the counter. “I’m Caroline Picasso.”
“Nice to meet you. Picasso?” He hoped the question might distract her.
“Yes, sir. You can’t make this stuff up. No relation that I know of, if that’s what you’re thinking. Ben—that’s my husband—does like to paint. They’re not masterpieces, mind you, but I happen to think they’re pretty good. At least you can tell a nose from a chin or a hand from an elbow.” The way she gestured with her hands and twisted her face to illustrate her point made him laugh. “So, tell me, what might your name be, and what brings you to our little town?”
“Just passing through, signora.” His mistake was drumming the fingers of his right hand on the counter.
Those blue eyes lit, and she surprised him by grabbing hold of his hand, rotating it, studying his World Cup ring. “Real nice ring. Impressive.”
The ring was a bit ostentatious, but it was a personal badge of honor. Among his most prized possessions, it reminded him how far he’d come and symbolized a hard-fought battle in his third year with the Italian Soccer League.
Releasing his hand, Caroline brought his thoughts back to the present. “I’ll call you Italian Cowboy for now.” Her grin resurfaced. “Sounds better than Mr. Passing-through-Town. Where were you a second ago?”
“Mentally thanking you for not asking any questions.”
“Everybody’s got a story to tell,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got a real good one, but it’s yours to tell. Before you head out in the cold again, you’ve gotta have a cup of my hot coffee. It’ll keep you alert for wherever you’re going tonight.”
“Sounds great. Grazie mille.” His stomach growled, reminding him it’d been seven hours since he’d ingested weak minestrone soup and a half-wilted salad in a no-name roadside diner a couple of states back.
A gust of cold December air bl
asted him as the front door flew open, the bell jingling away. Dressed in a light blue knit hat, jeans, a white parka, and snow boots, a young woman stepped over the threshold of the diner. With effort, she leaned against the door while the wind howled outside.
Dante jumped from his seat, moved around her, and gave the door a firm push.
She graced him with a bright smile. “Thanks.” Eyes the color of dark chocolate—with a hint of warm, melting caramel—met his. With her cheeks flushed pink and snowflakes dancing on dark lashes, she was lovely.
“Prego.”
“Amanda!”
They both turned as Caroline rushed forward, moving faster than he’d have thought possible as she enfolded Amanda in a warm embrace. “Oh, honey, what a wonderful surprise. I knew you were coming for Jake and Julia’s wedding, of course, but I didn’t expect you so soon. Sure is great to see you. We’ve all missed you around here.”
When Amanda pulled off her hat, a mass of loose, honey-blonde curls tumbled past her shoulders. “Molto bella,” Dante said under his breath. The last rays of sunshine shone through the picture window behind her, forming a sort of golden halo around her glowing face. Wow. Christmas season or not, all the driving must be getting to him. Next he’d be seeing Santa, flying reindeer, and elves.
“I decided to combine vacation time with the Christmas break and come home early. If Julia needs any help with last-minute details, I wanted to be here. Besides,” Amanda said with a grin, “palm trees and flip flops at Christmas somehow seem…wrong. You can’t beat Starlight during the holidays.”
“You got that right,” Caroline said. “Sit yourself down and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
“Actually, I called ahead, and Martha’s holding a box of frosted sugar cookies for Jake. I parked out front, and when I saw you through the window, I couldn’t resist stopping in to say hi. I’m going to run over to the bakery before Martha closes for the night, and then I’ll be back.”
Amanda slanted a curious gaze to where he stood beside her as if rooted to the floor like a teenager with a silly crush. She tugged off one glove and held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Amanda Marston. Thanks again for your help.”
“Buona sera, signorina.” Slipping into Italian came naturally but he hoped this gorgeous woman wouldn’t misconstrue his words and think he was some kind of Romeo trying to impress her. Based on her expression, she’d formed no early judgments. He reached for her hand, pale in contrast to his own, which was bronzed from the unrelenting Italian sun. The fact she wore no engagement ring or wedding band filled him with an unexpected sense of satisfaction. “I’m Dante. Very nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” Amanda tilted her head.
Her movement drew his attention to her hair. Those blonde curls fascinated him. “Italian or American?”
He released her hand, ignoring Caroline’s smug grin. “Both. It’s sort of a long story.”
“Aren’t they all?” Her lips creased into an inviting smile. “I’d like to hear it sometime.” This woman was no shy wallflower, but her comment came across as simple curiosity rather than overt flirtation. Although he liked assertive women, he’d encountered far too many fawning, aggressive fans in the past few years. But Amanda seemed genuine, unassuming, and friendly.
Caroline elbowed him as she rounded the counter. “I would have introduced you, Amanda, but I hadn’t been able to get a name out of him. Until you came along, I’d decided to call him Italian Cowboy. After all, how many Italian-spouting cowboys do we get traveling through Starlight on the second Tuesday in December?”
Amanda laughed. “Not many, I’m sure. I’m going to run over to Martha’s, and I’ll be back in a few minutes for that promised cup of coffee.” With a quick wave, she tugged on her hat and opened the door, setting that bell to its infernal jingling.
“Was she a figment of my overactive imagination?” The question slipped out as Dante sank back onto his seat. He hadn’t intended to say it out loud, and he needed to leave before Amanda returned. His brain told him one thing, but why did everything else in him urge him to stay? Something about Amanda was different. Very special different. Need-her-in-your-life different.
2
Dante frowned. He’d never been one to idealize a woman and harbor romantic fantasies before, so why now? Just because it was the off-season and he wasn’t actively training didn’t mean he could allow himself to be distracted by the first intelligent, sweet, and unassuming woman he met back in the States. A woman he found incredibly attractive. Make that unbelievably attractive.
“Amanda’s as real as you and me, Italian Cowboy,” Caroline said, bringing him back to the present. “She moved to Florida with her parents a couple of years ago. Teaches high school history and coaches the swim team. Her brother Jake’s the fire captain in town, and he’s getting married soon. That’s the quick rundown.” She leaned closer. “Amanda’s also one of the prettiest girls ever born and raised in Starlight. With a sparkling personality to match.” Caroline rapped her knuckles on the counter. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Si,” he said. “So it would seem.”
Caroline pulled a red ceramic mug from a rack hanging above the counter and filled it with the steaming black brew. “Take anything in it?”
“Just black, per favore.” He needed the caffeine straight-up tonight. The strong aroma filled his senses. Coffee was a guilty pleasure forbidden during the grueling months of training and the playing season. He’d savor every single drop.
Caroline placed the steaming brew in front of him and leaned close. “It’s not every day I get the honor and privilege of serving a world class soccer player at Barney’s Diner, Mr. Moretti.”
He jerked up his head.
“I knew it!” She tossed down her towel and stepped around the counter. He twisted on the stool as she moved beside him and lowered her voice. “It is you, isn’t it? Dante Moretti, as I live and breathe.”
“Si.” He blew out a sigh. “What gave me away?”
Her eyes twinkled. “For one thing, you’ve got a Texas drawl mixed with the Italian. The jeans, boots, and Stetson are pretty much a dead giveaway. I’ve seen your photo and watched you play enough times to recognize those blue peepers, all that dark wavy hair and”—she peered close—“yep, there it is, that little heart-shaped mole above your left eyebrow. But the biggest tip-off? Not many men walk around wearing a World Cup ring, and certainly never in Starlight. Believe it or not, I’m like the biggest pro soccer fan in this town. When you took the ‘dive seen round the world’ and caught that ball in the World Cup, I screamed so loud I reckon the neighbors thought I was being murdered. Nearly threw out my back with all the jumping up and down.”
“Really?” Who’d have thought an older woman in a no-name town in central Iowa would be a professional soccer fan? Gave him a rush all the same. Lifting his shoulders, Dante gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Not to sound insensitive. Molto grazie.”
“Let me see,” she said, tapping a finger on her chin. “What is it they call you in Europe?”
He held up one hand. “Signora, stop right there—”
“Delizioso Dante?”
He shifted, uncomfortable beneath her scrutiny. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape that inane nickname the Italian press saddled him with from the beginning of his career. “If you knew me better, you wouldn’t be saying that to my face, Miss Caroline.” He rubbed a hand over his beard. Although it hid his most celebrated features, the facial hair itched and annoyed the spit out of him.
“Speaking of faces, why are you hiding those famous dimples?” She surprised him with playful taps on both cheeks. “If Len’s Barber Shop was open, I’d haul you over there right now, sit you down, and not let you out of the chair until this handsome face is as smooth as a baby’s behind.” She settled her hands on her hips, reminding him of his Gran. “Answer me one thing. You’re not married, are you?”
When she raised a brow, waiting, he shook his head. “Not even close. My
line of work doesn’t exactly attract the marrying kind of girl.” Sure, he’d engaged in his fair share of innocent flirting, but that’s as far as he’d allowed it to go. By focusing on his game, he’d avoided unwanted complications or “entanglements,” as his teammates were fond of saying. That kind of behavior only brought trouble he didn’t need.
“Well, if there’s not some mighty strong undercurrents in that statement.” Caroline moved back behind the counter again. “Don’t go running off. Stick around and get to know Amanda better. Besides, you need to eat, and you haven’t even tasted your coffee.”
“I’m not staying, Miss Caroline, so getting to know Amanda would serve no purpose, regrettable though it might be.” That last part was mumbled under his breath, but Dante knew she’d heard him. Maybe all the Christmas songs he’d heard the last week while driving around the country had made him go soft and sentimental.
The intensity of Caroline’s gaze, so much like Gran’s, leveled him. “You got somewhere else you need to be right now?”
“No, ma’am, but—”
“Tell you what. You don’t call me ma’am and I won’t let on we’ve got a world class champion athlete in our midst. Deal?”
He chuckled. “Si.”
“Now, sit up straight, mister. A very pretty ‘marrying kind of girl’ is coming back in here again in a few minutes, and you’d better be ready to pour on all that famous Moretti charm.”
3
Dante wrapped both hands around his mug and surveyed the scene outside the big picture window. A light, steady snow fell, coating the ground with another fresh layer, reflecting the last rays as the sun lowered on the horizon. Picturesque was the word for it, like a scene on a Christmas card.
As he’d driven through the quiet streets shortly before dusk, the quaintness of the town—with bright, multicolored lights strung across their facades and twinkling in the trees—appealed to a sense of hometown charm he hadn’t experienced in years.
