by Metsy Hingle
“A blizzard?”
“Yes, Maria, a blizzard.” He caught her by the arm, marched her over to the door and threw it open. “Take a look,” he commanded, gesturing toward the white landscape where the snow drifts were quickly approaching three feet.
“Oh,” she whispered.
When she shivered, he slammed the door closed. “And according to the state trooper who stopped me on my way here for speeding, it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse.”
She pulled free of his grasp and stepped away. She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped up her chin defiantly. “Then you’d better go. Otherwise, you’re liable to have trouble getting back to town.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—”
“It’s not up for discussion,” he told her. “That’s my baby you’re carrying and there’s no way I’m leaving you alone out here.”
“Then I’ll go back with you to the city and get a room at the hotel.”
“Forget it. We’re better off staying here until this storm’s over.”
“I don’t want to stay here with you,” she argued.
The rejection stung—more than it should, Steven thought. “That’s too bad because you don’t have any choice.”
“I—”
“Dammit, Maria! The roads are closed.”
Seven
Maria desperately wanted to argue with Steven, but she knew that he was right. She had been foolish not to pay closer attention to the weather. But she’d awakened feeling lonely and homesick and confused, so she’d thrown herself into baking some holiday treats for the Calderones and her family. “I guess I really don’t have any choice, do I?”
“No.”
She sighed and couldn’t help feeling a flicker of annoyance when Sophia waltzed into the kitchen and immediately trotted over to Steven. “Then I’d better see that the extra bedroom has clean sheets and towels.”
“While you do that I’ll check the phone extensions and see which one’s off the hook.”
“I’ll do it,” Maria told him. She already suspected it was the one in her bedroom.
“Fine.” He walked over to the chair to retrieve his jacket and Sophia followed him, weaving herself in and out of his legs as he shrugged into the coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a look at the generator. Louis showed me where it is and I want to make sure I’m familiar with it in case the power goes out.”
“Traitor,” she muttered when Sophia darted out of the door and followed Steven. Feeling annoyed with herself, Steven and the cat, Maria headed upstairs. Much to her chagrin, she spied the phone dislodged from the cradle on her nightstand, beeping in distress. Striding across the room, she righted the receiver, then she headed down the hall to the spare bedroom. She put fresh sheets on the bed and made sure there were extra towels in the bathroom that adjoined the two rooms before heading back downstairs.
She’d just returned to the kitchen when the door opened. Sophia raced inside, her gray fur dusted in white, and Steven, who stomped his boots and managed to shake off some of the snow, came in behind her, his arms loaded with firewood.
“Could you get the door for me?” he asked.
Maria rushed over and closed the door behind him, shutting out the gust of cold air that whipped through the room. She followed Steven to the den where he began filling the bin next to the fireplace with wood.
“I checked out the generator and it looks like it’s ready to go if we need it,” he said as he stacked the wood. “But I figured it would be a good idea to bring in some extra wood just in case.”
“You’re probably right,” she said and realized she should have thought of that herself. While Steven worked, Maria went to the hall to retrieve her coat and scarf. Pulling on her gloves, she returned to the den.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Steven asked as he stood.
“To help you carry in some more wood.”
“I can handle it. You stay in here where it’s warm.”
Steven’s dismissal did nothing to improve her mood. “Don’t treat me like a simpering, helpless female, Steven,” she countered. “A little snow isn’t going to hurt me and I’m certainly capable of carrying in firewood.”
Steven let out a breath. “Trust me, no one could ever accuse you of being simpering or helpless. I have no doubt you can handle anything that’s thrown at you. But you just happen to be seven months pregnant and there’s a blizzard going on out there and we’re stranded here for Lord knows how long. Why chance catching your death of cold or tripping or doing anything that might put you and the baby at risk unless you have to?”
His reply deflated all her righteous indignation in one fell swoop. Of course, he was right. Only an idiot would think otherwise. And though she felt like an idiot at the moment, she hadn’t completely taken leave of her senses. “I’m sorry. I just feel…useless.”
Steven walked over to her, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Never,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute and maybe when I finish I can convince you to let me sample some of those goodies I saw in the kitchen.”
She not only allowed him to sample the goodies in the kitchen, she served him a plate filled with the assorted cookies, candies and cakes. She refilled the coffee cup in front of him and poured herself a cup of the hot chocolate she’d prepared.
“What do you call these shell-shaped things?” Steven asked as he picked up the chocolate cookie dusted with powdered sugar and devoured it.
“Those are Madeleines.”
“They’re fabulous.” He reached for another cookie. “And this?”
“Swiss-Italian chocolate meringues.”
He closed his eyes and moaned. “These are sinful.”
Maria laughed. “That’s what my grandfather used to say. It’s my grandmother Angelica’s recipe.”
“I didn’t realize your grandmother was a baker. I’d always heard that the gelato was her passion.”
“It was,” Maria replied. “But she was very good at a lot of things.” Much better than she was, Maria thought silently.
“So is her granddaughter.”
“Thanks.” Feeling restless, she brought her cup to the sink, filled it with water. “Do you want more coffee?”
“No thanks.” He pushed away from the table and brought his empty cup and plate over to her at the sink. “That was great. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and rinsed out the china pieces before putting them into the dishwasher. After drying off her hands, she walked over to the cabinet and began removing containers for the baked goods.
“Here, let me get that for you,” Steven offered as he came up behind her and retrieved the plastic containers from the top shelf.
“Thanks,” she murmured and returned to the counter where she began placing the Madeleines inside one of the bins.
“Need some help?”
“No. I can manage.”
He ignored her and taking one of the other plastic containers, he began placing the meringue cookies inside. “All of this for the church bazaar?”
“No. It’s for the Calderones and my family,” Maria told him. “These are some of my family’s favorites. My grandmother always spent the first two weeks in December baking up a storm before the caroling party and I used to help her.”
“The caroling party?”
“It’s tradition for all the Barones to go Christmas caroling the week before Christmas,” Maria explained, smiling at the memory. “We’re not very good and I suspect a lot of the neighbors wish we wouldn’t. But we brave the cold anyway and try to make some semblance of carrying a tune so that we can go home and reward ourselves for our efforts by stuffing ourselves with cookies and chocolate.”
“It sounds like a nice tradition.”
“It is.” And just thinking about it made her homesick all over again. “What about you? Does your family have any silly holiday traditions they observe?”
&n
bsp; “My aunt Lucia always serves her famous eggnog on Christmas Eve.”
“That’s nice.”
“No, it’s not. The stuff is awful.”
“Steven,” Maria admonished, even though her lips twitched in amusement. “What a terrible thing to say.”
“It’s the truth. Aunt Lucia’s eggnog could put hair on a person’s chest and probably did put the hair on mine,” he said, humor and affection in his voice.
“Then why drink it?”
“Because she thinks we love the stuff. And no one has the heart to tell her how bad it really is.” He shrugged. “Besides, she only makes it once a year.”
Moved by his sensitivity, she said, “You’re a good man, Steven Conti.”
“That’s what I keep telling you,” he said as he swiped one of the Madeleines from the container she was filling and popped it into his mouth. “And everyone knows we good-guy types are hard to come by.”
“Is that so?”
“Sure is.”
She retrieved the lid to the container, prepared to seal it when Steven reached for another cookie. She swatted at his fingers, but not before allowing him his bounty.
He polished off the chocolate shell and grinned at her. “And being the smart woman that you are, you wouldn’t want to let me get away, would you?”
“Wouldn’t I?” she asked, surprising herself that she could tease with him so easily. Probably had something to do with the isolation, she reasoned. Right now Boston and their family problems seemed light-years away.
“Nope, you wouldn’t. And sooner or later you’re going to realize that and agree to marry me.”
Deciding it best not to go down that road, Maria changed the subject. “Would you hand me that tray of pecan tassies on the end of the counter?”
“These little tarts with the gooey filling?” he asked, indicating the miniature tarts loaded with the pecan pie filling.
“Yes.”
He handed the tray to her. “What did you call them?”
“Pecan tassies,” she responded and began transferring the treats into another container.
“I don’t think I got one of those.”
“Here,” Maria said and handed him one. Though she said nothing, she couldn’t help but delight at his moans of pleasure.
“You going to send all of this to your family?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I packed away some for Louis and Magdalene. The rest I was planning to ship to my family with some Christmas gifts later this week.”
“Don’t you plan to go home for Christmas?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she told him. And it was true. She’d put off the decision for weeks now, unsure of how to tell her family about the baby, not wanting to see their shock and disappointment when she told them that Steven was the baby’s father.
“You won’t be able to keep the baby a secret much longer,” Steven reminded her. “I’d like to be with you when you do tell them.”
Maria gripped the countertop with both hands. Knowing how awful things had been between their families since the fire, she could only imagine how furious her parents and siblings would be. But it wasn’t for herself that she feared. It was for Steven. “Please, can we talk about something else.”
“All right,” he said, and although he didn’t pursue the topic, it was clear that he had wanted to.
“Have you finished your Christmas shopping yet?” she asked, determined to restore the easier mood.
“I haven’t even started.”
“You’re kidding. What are you waiting for? Christmas is less than two weeks away.”
“I still have plenty of time,” he boasted and launched into how easy shopping actually was and how anyone who was organized could knock it out in a few hours.
And for the next thirty minutes, he amused Maria with tales of weird gifts received over the years and his approach to gifts for those hard-to-buy-for relatives and friends. By the time she sealed the last container of baked goods, she was laughing out loud. “You’re making that up,” she told him after one particularly outrageous claim of receiving chocolate-covered ants from a client.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, flashing her another smile that had the dimple winking in his cheek.
She gave him a dubious look before stacking the last container of baked goods with the others. “That’s the last of it,” she said. After wiping off her hands, she walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain and looked outside. To her surprise, darkness had set in. The snow continued to fall, more heavily now, weighing down the branches of the Ponderosa pines. In the far distance, she could make out the shadow of the mountains that stood like silent sentinels.
“You have to admit,” Steven said, coming up behind her, “all that snow and the mountains make for a pretty sight.”
“Yes,” she replied. And a lonely one, too, she added in silence. Or perhaps it was she who was lonely, Maria thought. She pressed a hand to her lower back to ease the ache no doubt caused by being on her feet so long. “I’d better see about cleaning up those cookie sheets,” she said and waited for Steven to step back. When he did, she walked over to the counter and began stacking the cookie sheets.
Steven held out his hands for the trays. When she hesitated, he said, “Why don’t you let me wash these while you go stretch out on the couch for a while and rest?”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Maria. Your back’s hurting.”
“How—”
“That’s the third time in the past hour that you’ve rubbed it.”
“You’re very observant.”
He touched her cheek. “Only where you’re concerned.”
She caught his hand. “Steven—”
“Humor me, Maria. You’re carrying my baby and in a couple of months, you’re going to give me the most wonderful gift a man could ever ask for—a child. The least I can do is wash up a few pans for you. Admit it, you’re tired.”
“Just a little,” she conceded.
“Come on, then,” he said and steered her out of the kitchen toward the den. “It’s a little chilly in here. I’ll get a fire going for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.
“I want to do it,” he informed her. He motioned to the couches. “Go ahead and put your feet up and get comfortable while I see to the fire.”
The idea of stretching out on the couch was too appealing to argue further. So she kicked off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. She pulled the brightly colored afghan around her to ward off the chill. Sophia, who lay snuggled up across from her on Louis’s chair, opened her eyes as though to check out the source of the intrusion. Just as quickly she closed them again.
Within moments flames leaped to life in the fireplace grate. Steven stood and dusted off his hands. “It should be all nice and toasty in here in a couple of minutes.”
Maria stared at him, noted the lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead, the way the firelight illuminated the sharpness of his cheekbones, the warmth and concern in his blue eyes. He looked so tall and handsome and strong standing there, she thought. Her heart swelled with love for him. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“My pleasure. Now try to get some rest,” he said. “I’ll take care of the kitchen and be back in a few minutes.”
It took him just over thirty minutes to set the kitchen to rights. A check of the weather gave no indication of the snow letting up. Not wanting to disturb Maria, he had put on the radio in the spare bedroom to get confirmation that they were indeed expecting blizzard conditions. The threat of the storm and the potential for them being stranded should have alarmed him, Steven thought. Instead he’d welcomed the isolation and the chance to be with Maria. Which just went to show how desperate he was to change her mind about marrying him, he admitted. Somehow, someway, he had to convince her and he had to do it soon. Because based on his last conversation with Ethan Mallory, the search for his siste
r was moving much too slowly. Thoughts of his sister being kidnapped by Derrick Barone had anger balling like a fist in his gut. He’d had enough of the bureaucracy. Bianca must be out of her mind with fear. If Mallory and the feds couldn’t find Barone and get his sister back, then he damn well would.
Suddenly thoughts about his and Maria’s families and their reactions to the situation settled over him like a dark cloud. He couldn’t think about them now, Steven told himself. Right now he had to concentrate on Maria and try to convince her that they deserved a chance—not just for their sakes, but for the sake of their baby. With that thought and only that thought in his mind, he started for the den.
Only he found Maria sound asleep. And as he stared at her, the spiel that he’d been practicing while he’d cleaned the kitchen was forgotten. Resting on her side, she had one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her lips were slightly parted. Her hair framed her face like mocha silk and fanned out over the russet-colored pillow. Her skin looked like fine porcelain—smooth and perfect. There was something almost spiritual about the site of Maria in slumber, Steven thought as he moved closer. Standing over her, he took in her small body stretched out on the couch, the roundness of her stomach, the softness of her expression. God, but she was beautiful. Like a priceless work of art. Raphael’s Madonna in the flesh, he decided. And for the first time in his life Steven wished he’d been blessed with the skill of an artist instead of a head for computers so that he could capture her on canvas.
He shifted his gaze to her belly, swollen with his child, and his throat tightened. He loved her, had loved her almost from the moment he’d first met her. Emotion swirled inside him so fiercely, it made his chest ache. He loved Maria and he’d be damned if he’d give up on them because of their families. Suddenly all the frustration that had been eating at him because of Maria’s refusal to marry him reared its head again. He would have a life with Maria, he promised himself. Somehow he would convince her to give them a chance.
And what if Maria’s right? What if in choosing her, you lose your family?
