“Hi, Ham.” Leo looked in the case. “I’d like about a half a pound of thinly sliced prosciutto, and I need you to grind some lean beef and pork together, real fine. A pound will do it.”
Ham reached in the case for the marbled prosciutto. “Fixing a fancy dinner?”
“I’m using a family recipe for bolognese sauce.” He smiled. “Italian side.”
“I understand,” Ham replied, placing the meat in the slicer. “So, is this special dinner for the little lady from Oregon you’ve been seeing every day?”
“Yeah, I’m a one man welcoming committee,” Leo said, hoping he wouldn’t get too much ribbing from his cousin.
“Uh-huh. I haven’t met her, but I’ve been told she’s pretty and very interested in what’s going on around town. Maybe she’s looking for a place to settle down. You watch out or you’ll find yourself leg-shackled like most of your friends.”
“She’s not going to stay. She’s just doing some research.”
Ham slapped a white-wrapped package on top of the counter. “Well, if she needs any help you can’t provide, she can come see me. I’m an excellent researcher.”
“Yeah, I see that happening,” Leo scoffed. “I think I can provide all the resources she needs.”
Ham laughed and went off to grind the meat. Leo waited impatiently, ready to get home and start the sauce.
And trying not to think about what other purposes he could come up with for the whipping cream in his basket.
“I’M DOING SOME GENEALOGY research on someone who used to live here,” Amanda said carefully as she leaned over the desk, phone to her ear. “I was told that you might have known the person and I’m trying to fill in some blanks about her life.”
“It’s true I knew or know just about everyone around here,” Myra Hammer said warily, “but I don’t know you and I don’t answer personal questions about folks I know to strangers.”
“I understand. Let me just tell you that I’m looking for information on Luanna Crawford. I have a copy of her death certificate from Oregon, but no personal stories about her life here in Brody’s Crossing.”
“Her sons sure won’t talk about her,” Myra said with a hint of bitterness. “She left them, ya know? Folks around here don’t understand that kind of behavior.”
“Yes, I know.” Boy, did she ever. Cal had made that very clear. “So, she just had the two boys?” Amanda asked cautiously, drumming her pen on the yellow pad in front of her.
“Why would you ask that? Didn’t folks tell you she only had two sons with that hard-ass Calvin?”
“Yes, but there are conflicting records. Sometimes there’s another person with a similar name, and as researchers, we have to look at all possibilities when we’re doing a family pedigree chart.”
“I’d like to see this chart. Sounds like something a purebred horse or dog might have.”
“It’s a standard genealogy tool that lists parents, grandparents and so on for each person.”
“Who wants this chart?”
“Someone related to Luanna Crawford.”
There was a silence on the phone, then Myra said, “Who is this?”
Amanda’s heart began to beat faster. “I think you know me. My name is Amanda.”
Something like a hand slapping wood sounded over the line. “You listen here. If you want my help, you’d danged better be able to prove to me that you’re who I think you are and not some shady wheeler-dealer.”
“I can prove who I am.”
“You meet me at the little park between the antiques store and the law office there on Main Street. It’s right across from the hardware store. You can’t miss it. Be there tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
“I—I’ll be there, Mrs. Hammer.”
“You call me Myra and we’ll just see what I call you tomorrow.” And then she hung up the phone.
Amanda sat there, slightly stunned by the “difficult” woman’s abrupt words and her insistence on meeting face-to-face. Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, she wrote on her yellow pad. Across from the hardware store. Leo’s store. She’d be there, but she wasn’t real sure what she’d find when she came face-to-face with Myra.
Amanda wanted to know the whole story about her mother’s reasons for leaving her boys, but could Myra keep a secret? She said she didn’t talk about people. Amanda had to make sure their conversation stayed quiet until she spoken with her brother Cal and headed out of town as fast as her Subaru could carry her.
“OH, MY GOODNESS, THAT SMELLS wonderful,” Amanda gushed as she walked into Leo’s condo.
He stepped back and opened the door all the way. “Come on in. I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
“Oh, I do, too.” She loved Italian food and hadn’t had anything except pizza in longer than she could remember.
The door to Leo’s condo closed with a heavy click that made her jump. She had to remember she wasn’t in a fancy restaurant, but Leo’s private residence.
Very, very private. No chance of interruptions here.
“I’ve opened a bottle of Chianti, but if you’d like something else—”
“No, that’s fine.” She wandered into the living area as he walked to a wine cabinet on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him grab two wineglasses between his fingers. He wore a thin knit shirt and jeans that fit his long legs so very, very well.
She had the strongest and most inappropriate urge to run her hands up the length of his thighs.
She blinked and turned away to watch the low flames in the antique, marble-fronted fireplace. Dinner and a movie. That’s all she wanted. Right?
“Here you go,” he said from beside her.
She startled again, then held out her hand. “Thank you.” Not trusting herself to be steady enough to hold the stem, she cradled the bowl of the glass.
“For dinner we’re having my great-grandmother Casale’s recipe, brought over when she was a bride. She and my great-grandfather came through Ellis Island with one trunk of all their possessions and a lot of hopes and dreams.”
“And a really good recipe for…what is that?”
“Bolognese sauce. It’s a northern Italian specialty.” He gestured with his free hand. “Would you like to sit down, sip your wine? Or are you starving?”
“I’ll sit for a few minutes. Whenever you’re ready to eat is fine. And let me know if I can help. I’m not a great cook, but I know my way around a kitchen.”
“I think we’re good. Just relax.”
She fidgeted on the upholstered chair across from a sleek leather sofa. “I’m not sure why I’m so jumpy.”
“Really? I think I have a clue. You don’t trust me.”
She looked up. “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Ah.” He sipped his wine, looking at her over the rim.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Surely he hadn’t already picked up on the fact that she didn’t trust herself around him. “Nothing.”
She glanced away and noticed a few old sepia toned photos on the mantel. “The Casale family?”
“When they first arrived in Texas. They came out on the railroad from New York City to open a restaurant in Fort Worth.”
“Sounds like a real adventure. Did the restaurant work out?”
“Yes, but after they had three children, they decided to change professions. My great-grandfather got in the wholesale grocery business. Back then it was mostly staples and fresh produce when available. Produce and staples went real well with the stockyards in Fort Worth.”
“So they became the suppliers to restaurants.”
“And eventually, retail grocers. It runs in the family.”
“But you have a hardware store.”
He grinned. “Yes, but I can cook.”
She relaxed and smiled. “Smells like it.”
“Tastes like it, too.” He put his glass down on the coffee table, which she noticed was actually an old trunk covered by a glass top.
She leaned forward and looked at some of the old labels. Genoa. Rome. New York City. “Is this their original trunk?”
“Yes, it is. My father gave it to me when I moved in here. It’s one of our most prized possessions.”
“The patina is beautiful. And the labels are in such good shape.” How much would something like this sell for? She’d never sold a trunk online before so she had no idea, but she’d seen a few in antiques stores. None this nice, though.
“It’s not valuable to us because of its condition,” he said softly. “It’s priceless because of what it represents.”
She looked up into his blue eyes. “What does it mean to you?”
“The strength to leave everything you know and start over. The bravery to go to a country where you can’t speak the language and don’t know the customs. The confidence that you can succeed, no matter what, that your life will be better.”
She felt an unexpected well of tears in her eyes. Leo’s words were like poetry.
“You’re a lot like them,” he continued softly. “Packing up everything you own in your car, making your own way in the world the best you can, using your skills. You came to a new place, and I think,” he said, taking her hand in his, “that you also came to Texas to make your life better. Just like Leonardo and Aria Casale.”
She shook her head and blinked back the tears. “I’m not as brave as they were.”
“I think you are. I don’t understand what you want or need, but I would like to know you better.”
Oh, God, how easy it would be to talk to him. To tell him how frightened she was when her mother died. How angry and confused she felt, knowing she had a family in Texas who had no idea she existed. How many times had she thought about picking up the phone and calling Information to get their number, to tell them the truth?
How easy it would be now to confess to Leo that she was Cal and Troy’s secret little sister. She could tell Leo that she didn’t care about the ranch or any inherited money.
She just wanted a family. The one she’d never had.
“I…I think I’m ready for that authentic Casale recipe now,” she said softly, pulling back.
Leo sat across from her, looking intense, determined. He wanted to know the truth and he would keep asking. He expected her to cave in under his pressure.
He didn’t know her very well.
At last he sat back. “Do you like Caesar salad?”
“Yes, I do.”
In one fluid motion he stood up and held out his hand. “Come on. This is possibly the best batch of Aria Casale’s bolognese sauce that ever simmered on a stove.”
She smiled. “I can’t wait to try it.”
“Come on.” He’d set the table already, but he lit the two candles in the center and dimmed the modern drum-shaped light over the dining area. “Have a seat,” he said, pulling out her chair. “I’ll get the salad and a refill of wine.”
“Oh, I probably shouldn’t have any more.”
“Why? You don’t have to drive. If you get tipsy, I’ll walk you downstairs.”
She rolled her eyes. He was one smooth operator. Still, the urge to relax a little, have more than one glass of wine that she didn’t have to pay for, was appealing. “Okay, just one more.”
Within minutes she was two sips into her new glass of Chianti and well into her salad. “This is great. Probably not Aria’s recipe, though.”
“No, my mother’s. She always loved the fresh produce section of the market. That’s where she met my father.”
“How long have they been married?”
“Oh, let’s see. I think it’s thirty-six years.”
“Wow. That’s a long time.”
“There’s something about living in a small town that seems to keep couples together. I’d say we have a much lower divorce rate in Brody’s Crossing than the national one.”
Not all couples stayed married. Not her mother and father. “Well, I’m happy for your parents, but there are always exceptions to the rule.”
“True.” He gathered their empty salad plates.
She started to rise. “Let me help.”
“No, you just relax. I don’t want you seeing the mess in my kitchen. I’m a very…active cook.”
I’ll bet you’re an active lover, too, she thought. Not something she should be thinking about, she berated herself, especially alone in his apartment, eating his delicious food and drinking his excellent wine.
She sat in her chair and looked around the beautiful condo where Leo lived. In his friendly, quaint and thriving town, surrounded with loving family and good friends. How different his life was from hers.
If her mother had brought her back to Brody’s Crossing instead of sweeping her away to Oregon, would she have gone to school with Leo? Would she have thought he was too old for her, while secretly wanting to kiss him?
Probably. He’d no doubt always been a charmer.
“Dinner is served,” he said, shaking her out of her could-have-been dreaming. He placed a steaming plate of fettuccine topped with a rich-looking, fragrant sauce. There was even a few vegetables hiding in the finely ground beef or pork.
Leo sat down across from her, watching her closely. He raised an eyebrow. She smiled back and twirled her fork in the pasta, raising it to her lips, pausing just a moment. Leo’s eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek tightened.
Amanda slipped the fork inside her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the rich sauce and perfectly cooked fettuccine.
She opened her eyes and looked across the table when Leo discreetly cleared his throat. “How is it?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” she answered honestly. “It’s the best.”
“I told you so,” he replied, his smile returning. Right then she knew that if they’d grown up here together, he would have definitely been the older boy she’d wanted to kiss.
Would it be so terrible to give in to her desires this one time, she wondered.
LEO KNEW HE’D LOST ALL perspective on the evening when he watched Amanda’s clear blue-gray eyes tear at his great-grandparents’ story. She felt a particular sensitivity for ties to the past that he’d often taken for granted.
He’d meant what he said about her being brave, making her own journey. He wasn’t sure she believed it, though. And he still wasn’t sure why she’d decided to come to Brody’s Crossing, other than it had to do with the Crawfords.
At first she’d been a mystery to solve. Now he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted her to trust him enough to tell him why she’d packed up her car and driven halfway across the country, and why she had a deadline looming.
“How about some dessert?” he asked as she placed her napkin beside the plate and leaned back in her chair.
“I don’t think I can,” she answered, looking honestly disappointed.
“Maybe after the movie.”
“Movie? Oh, right.”
He pushed back from the table and grabbed both their plates. “Toni loaned me some of her favorites, and I picked up a couple of newer ones.” His sister’s DVDs were older, so he’d bought two more at the Walmart store in Graham just so he’d have a variety. “They’re inside the cabinet, beside the fireplace.”
While she walked over to pick out a DVD, he took the dirty dishes into his kitchen. More bowls, pans and utensils than he normally used in a week littered his countertop, sink and stove. A couple of glazed fruit and cream cheese tarts from the grocery sat on the counter, along with an unopened bottle of dessert wine and an unbrewed pot of coffee.
He’d done his best to be prepared. But for what?
LEO HAD STACKED UP SOME chick flicks that looked well used—Moonstruck, Ghost and Somewhere in Time. They must be Toni’s, Amanda thought. Then he had two newer date-type movies, The Proposal and Love Happens. He obviously didn’t want to get into any serious political or religious discussions, which was fine with her.
She looked at the movies on his shelves, from westerns to science fiction to war-related fil
ms like The Hurt Locker. He seemed to have eclectic tastes. Just as in the rest of his life, he was impossible to pigeonhole. He wasn’t just a small town hardware store owner. He wasn’t just a tux-wearing former professional gambler or a barista or a chef.
His movies were all “manly,” though. She’d bet he’d never lived with a woman, or if he had, she took her movies with her when she left.
His flat-screen TV and home theater system looked pretty high-tech, but it blended in with the rest of his furnishings. She wasn’t accustomed to men who thought about things like decor. The guys she’d dated would buy the biggest television and stereo they could afford and plop it in the middle of the longest wall in their living room, lining up old chairs and ratty, beer-stained couches to watch “the game.” Football, baseball, hockey.
Leo drank wine, cooked like a chef and had his great-grandparents’ trunk as a coffee table.
She was so out of her league.
Still, she was here now, and if he was just a little too good to be true, she could live with that. She would live with that. Why not take away some great memories when she left?
“Did you make a decision?” he asked from behind her.
She picked up a DVD and turned around. “Yes, I did.” She’d decided on a lot more than just a movie.
“Moonstruck? I haven’t seen that in years. It’s about an Italian family, you know.”
“Yes, I read that. I figured it was appropriate after the dinner you served.”
“Want anything before I put the movie on? Wine, water, coffee?”
She looked him over and bit back a suggestive response. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“Have a seat. I’ll get this started.”
“Sounds…great.”
She settled on the couch and watched him operate the home theater system. He dimmed the lights to a soft glow and joined her. Not too close, but not very far, either.
Leo had everything planned and scheduled. He was always thinking two or three steps ahead, as if life were a chess match. But if there was one thing Amanda had learned in her twenty-six years, it was that life didn’t always play by the rules.
Suddenly Texan Page 11
