by Style, Linda
She could tell someone had remodeled at some point, but not enough to change the ambience. The floor as well as the countertops were tiled in ceramic but in different colors. The old adobe tiles on the floor were perfect with the old-fashioned maple cabinets. The sink was white cast iron and the stove and refrigerator looked like something out of an old Bogart movie. Rico said he hadn’t done anything to dress up the place. But it was comfortable — bright and cheery and she felt bright and cheery standing there with Rico.
As they unpacked the food, the phone rang.
“Santini here.”
She heard him rattle off a bunch of code numbers and the word homicide. When he hung up, he placed his hands on the counter.
“I gotta go. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I can handle things here.”
“You sure?”
“How hard is it to put groceries away?”
“Can you start the salads?”
“Start the salads?” She almost choked. “What do you mean?”
“Boil the eggs, potatoes and pasta.”
“I’ve never made any of those things before.”
“You can’t boil eggs?” His expression switched from hopeful to incredulous.
“I didn’t say I couldn’t. I said I never have. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
By the time Rico left, she had his cell phone number, had promised not to open the door for anyone, and had a list of cooking instructions as long as her arm. Lord, if she made it through the rest of the weekend, she’d be amazed.
Despite all that, she was glad to have something to do to take her mind off wondering what had happened to her child.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RICO WORRIED ABOUT Macy the whole time he was away. He’d called twice and he could tell by her voice she thought he was overreacting. Now, pulling into his drive at 2 a.m., he noticed the lights were still on.
“Macy?” he said so she’d know it was him.
“I’m in here.”
Her voice came from the kitchen. “Why are you still up?” The odor of burned food permeated the air. When he reached the kitchen, he stopped short. Dirty pots and pans filled the sink, but there were still two pots of something boiling on the stove. Macy was barefoot, wearing shorts and leaning on the counter, her hair half out of the ponytail and in her eyes. Her pink T-shirt was covered in something that didn’t smell so hot, but he couldn’t tell what. And the look she gave him warned that he’d better not say a word. She held up a hand to make sure.
“I’ve been following your directions,” she said. “And again, they’re not the best directions in the world.”
He was speechless.
“Not for a beginner.” She rubbed her cheek with one hand and shook the list in his face with the other. “For example. Here—” she pointed at the list “—here you say to place the potatoes in a pot and fill with water. Boil until done.”
“Yeah. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”
She glared in exasperation. “You didn’t say how big the pot should be, how many potatoes, if they were to be peeled or not, and you didn’t say how long to cook them. And did you know that when they boil, the water goes all over the stove?”
“But what are you cooking now?”
Her mouth quirked sideways. “Potatoes. It took me a while to get it right.” She flipped a hand toward the pots in the sink. “I burned the first batch. Then I had to go to the store for more.”
He clenched his hands. “That wasn’t a good idea. It’s dangerous out there. A woman alone. At night.”
“Oh? Well, if I hadn’t gone to the store you wouldn’t have any potatoes for the potato salad.”
She looked so cute that, despite himself, he wanted to kiss her. “What about the eggs and the pasta?”
“Yeah, that’s another thi—” She stopped. Sighed. Took a breath, as if calming herself. “I had to get more eggs, too.” She spun around, her expression somber. “I discovered that eggs will blow up if you let them go too long and the water boils away, too.”
To keep from laughing, he went to the refrigerator for a beer. He pulled out a bottle of Bud and held it up to see if she wanted one, too.
“Sure, why not.”
“And the pasta?” He was almost afraid to ask. “How did that go?”
“It’s in the refrigerator cooling. There were good directions on the back of the package. And once I found a recipe for potato salad in one of your cookbooks, I figured out how to do the potatoes. Everything’s okay.”
He opened both bottles and handed her one. “Would you like a glass?”
She shook her head. “No, this is fine.” Then she proceeded to guzzle about half the bottle. “Mmm. Wish I’d thought about this earlier.”
She took another swig, then set the bottle on the counter. “So — how was your night?”
“Apparently a piece of cake compared to yours.” He couldn’t help grinning, then went to check the potatoes on the stove. “Ten more minutes should do it. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll take care of this.”
“What comes next?”
“Next?”
“The food. When do you assemble the food?”
“Oh…uh, ideally, I would’ve made the salads tonight, but I’ll do it in the morning.”
“I can help, if you want.”
He hoped his skepticism didn’t show.
“It’ll be easier since you’ll be here to give me directions.”
“Uh, sure. I’d love to have help. Now go to bed because we’ll need to be up by six or there won’t be enough time to get everything ready before the horde arrives.”
She pursed her lips and swiped at a stray hair with the back of her hand. “Six? That’s in four hours.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her expression said she thought he was crazy. But she didn’t complain. “Okay.” She pivoted, started to walk away, then turned back and smiled. “Good night, then.”
Watching her saunter down the hall made his breathing shallow and his blood start pumping. Just looking at those long, slender legs reminded him what they felt like wrapped around him. But he’d vowed to leave her alone while she stayed with him.
And if he didn’t stop ogling her, he’d burn the second batch of potatoes.
***
WHERE ARE YOU, BITCH! Macy bolted upright in bed. Her nightshirt was slick with sweat and her heart raced as if she’d just run a marathon. Just a dream. Only a dream. She inhaled, filling her lungs with as much air as possible, then slowly let it out. No, a nightmare.
Only she was awake now and the man who’d attacked her was in the hospital under police guard. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and realized she wasn’t in her own bed. She was at Rico’s.
She was safe here. Safe with Rico. She lay back on the pillow and stretched her arms above her head.
The light filtering through the blinds told her it was morning. She heard a banging noise. Smelled coffee. Oh, no. Damn. She’d overslept. She got up, threw on a robe and checked to see if the bathroom was open. It was, so she grabbed her toiletry bag and hurried across the hall.
Rico’s razor, shaving cream, toothpaste and toothbrush sat on a shelf to the right of the sink. A white terrycloth robe hung on the back of the door. She brushed a hand against the fabric, then leaned closer, breathing in the clean masculine scent. Rico’s.
Still thinking about him, she went to the sink and set her toiletries on the empty shelf and stood back for a look. This is what it’s like to live with someone. Sharing space. She liked the feeling. Being a part of someone else’s life. But a temporary feeling, because when she left here, she’d be alone again.
She needed a shower. Needed to stay in the moment.
When finished, she pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and threw on white shorts, red T-shirt and her favorite flip-flops, and then headed to the kitchen, the rich scent of coffee teasing her nostrils. She stopped in the archway. Rico was standing next to the counter chopping something, and right t
hen, her stomach growled. Loud.
Rico turned.
“Hey,” she said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I hope that sound I heard means you’re hungry.”
“Starved. But what I really need is coffee.”
He poured her a cup. “Black. Right?”
“Good memory.” She went over and took the cup from him, purposely brushing his fingers as she did. He smelled fresh from the shower himself, but his hair was dry, so he’d obviously awakened well before she did. “Sorry I overslept.”
“No problem.”
“What are you doing?”
“Chopping onions, peppers, cheese and ham. Can you eat an omelet?”
“I could eat a horse.”
“Well, we don’t serve that here. Eggs will have to do.” He poured some eggs from a bowl into a pan and hovered over it, spatula in hand.
“What about the food for the barbecue? What can I do?”
“It’s all done. No help necessary.”
If she’d been anywhere else she might’ve been happy to get the extra hours of sleep, happy she didn’t have to help, but here, she was surprisingly disappointed. She’d wanted to help Rico. And it was her own fault for getting up so late. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to…contribute.”
He dumped the vegetables he’d been cutting on top of the egg mixture in the pan, and she watched as he let it cook for a while, then flipped it over.
“There’ll be plenty to do before the family arrives. Make hamburger patties, lemonade and Kool-Aid for the kids….”
“Okay.” She grinned. “I feel better now.”
He slipped the omelet onto a plate and set it on the table. Then he proceeded to make another. “Go ahead. Eat. Mine will take a couple extra minutes.”
Sitting, she took a sip of coffee and waited for him anyway. “What time is your family coming?” Her stomach twinged at the thought. What was the big deal? These were people she would likely never see again. Get a grip, Capshaw.
“Sometime around noon. But with my family, you never know. Some come early, my parents usually, and the others dribble in. If we’re ready before noon, we’ll be fine.”
Great. That gave her a few hours to get some things done at the office.
He slipped the other omelet onto a plate and sat beside her. “There’s toast.” He pointed to a plate already on the table. “And orange juice. Would you like some?”
She shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Okay — then let’s eat.” He waited for her to take a bite. “It’s good. I guarantee it.”
She took a forkful, her taste buds salivating. “Mmm. You’re right. It’s wonderful.”
Watching her, he seemed pleased that she liked it and then he dived into his own.
“I have to go to my office for a little while this morning, but I can be back in an hour or so to help.”
“The office?”
“I need to get some things.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? The place will be empty.”
“I can’t have you go everywhere with me, and I do have a job, I have appointments, court dates and clients need things.”
“On a Sunday?”
“Well, no. But I’m behind.”
“Can’t you at least wait until we get a fix on the guy who attacked you? The detective on the case said he’d let me know as soon as the creep wakes up, and at the very least, we should know something tomorrow.”
Again, he made a good argument. She wasn’t all that comfortable about going to an empty building, either, but she couldn’t just let everything slide. “It’s possible that he just wanted to rob me and hearing me in the room, he decided to keep me quiet. Or maybe he just wanted to scare me. Like that note I received.”
“Anything is possible. But until we know for sure, you’re better off taking precautions.”
She nodded. “You’re right. If we haven’t heard anything soon, I’ll hire someone.”
“Hire someone?”
“Yes. A bodyguard.”
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I forgot you can afford to do things like that.”
She didn’t like the edge in his tone.
He finished his omelet, took his plate to the sink and stood there for a moment, as if reconciling something within himself. He turned. “Do what you need to do. But do it safely. That’s my only concern.”
A sharp ring of the doorbell interrupted them. “I’ll bet that’s my parents.”
Macy’s pulse quickened. “Already?”
“Finish your breakfast,” he said and left to answer the door.
As if she could eat now. She heard their greetings and after a couple more bites, she took the dishes to the sink and was placing them in the dishwasher when Rico came up behind her. “Macy, I’d like you to meet my parents.”
So much for going to the office. Macy wiped her hands on a towel and turned around.
Rico spread his hands. “My mother, Josephine, and my dad, Mario.” He smiled. “And this is Macy Capshaw.”
The resemblance was there. Rico had his mother’s sparkling eyes and Mario’s big smile. Josephine, a well-endowed woman, immediately came over and hugged Macy, which was quickly followed by another hug from Mario. “We’re so happy to meet you, dear,” Josephine said.
Feeling awkward, Macy simply smiled and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, too.” Hercules hovered around Macy’s ankles, so she picked him up. “And this is Hercules. Herc for short.”
Josephine rubbed behind the dog’s ears, commented about how cute he was, then turned to look at Rico. “What can I do? Or don’t you need my help?”
“I always need your help,” Rico said. “How about if Dad and I get things set up outside while you two finish here in the kitchen. Make the hamburger patties and lemonade, get out the chips and plates and all that stuff.”
“That’s it?”
“Mom, you’re on vacation, remember?”
Mario gave her a look, too, the thick lines in his forehead deepening. “I keep telling her, but you know she won’t sit down. She’s always fussing over something.”
“Go.” Josephine shooed the two men out the back door.
Macy set Hercules down and he followed Rico and Mario as if he was one of the guys. She was amazed at how quickly the pup had taken to Rico. Hercules hadn’t warmed to her parents at all, not even after four years.
“Well, there’s not much for us to do, is there?” Josephine lamented. “But this place could use a little cleaning.” As she was talking, Rico’s mother went to the refrigerator and took out the hamburger.
Macy washed her hands, removed the chips from the bags, took out the lemonade, and searched for a pitcher to make the drinks. Josephine pointed to one of the cabinets.
“Do you visit Rico often?” Macy asked.
“Once a year. We like to take all the grandchildren to Disneyland and spend some time with them at the shore.”
The shore. New Jersey-speak for the beach. “That’s really nice.” She couldn’t imagine her parents doing the same if they’d had grandchildren.
“Maybe you and Rico will join us.”
It wasn’t exactly a question and before Macy could refuse, Josephine said, “But I know Rico will be too busy as usual. Too busy to come home to visit, too. It’s that job.” She enunciated the word job with distaste. “And I suppose he’ll be too busy for Disneyland.”
Oh, geez. Macy felt as if her own mother were talking. “I know how he feels. It’s difficult to make time for both a career and a family.”
Josephine rolled a lump of hamburger in her hand, pushing and shaping it into the perfect patty. “Working that much isn’t good for anyone. Family is important. Very important.” She smiled then. “Rico needs to settle down with a good woman. Have lots of kids like his brothers and sisters.”
What could she say to that? I hope he finds someone?
“Macy,” Rico called from outside. “Can you come here for a minute?”
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“Excuse me,” she said to Josephine and made a quick exit.
When she got close to Rico he whispered, “I thought you might need to be rescued.”
Mario was cleaning the grill and they’d already set up extra chairs and small round tables near a very large redwood picnic table. Hercules leaped across the grassy yard like a gazelle, taking advantage of freedom from a leash. His personal nirvana. “Herc really likes the run of the yard, but I’ll have to come out and pick up any messes before people arrive.”
“I already did that.”
“Really? That was nice of you.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m a nice guy. Glad you realized it.”
How could she not.
“So, how’s it going? My mom can be a little overwhelming sometimes.”
“We were having an interesting conversation. I like her.”
“No talk of me getting married? That’s usually first on her list.”
Macy laughed. “She did mention it.”
“Well, just ignore all that and try to have a good time.”
Just then another voice came from the house. “Rico, baby.”
Macy looked up and saw a stunning woman with almost blue-black hair. Looking at her, Macy felt an odd sense of déjà vu. The woman seemed so familiar, but Macy couldn’t think of where she might’ve seen her before. And since the family lived in New Jersey, it wasn’t likely she had.
“Maria.” Rico went over to give her a hug. “I’d appreciate it if you’d quit the baby thing. I’m not the youngest in the family.”
She pinched his cheek. “But you’re the cutest,” the woman said, giving Macy a once-over as she moved rapidly toward her. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date.”
“This is my friend Macy Capshaw. Macy, this is my bossy older sister, Maria and—” Rico turned “—her husband, Tom.”
Macy hadn’t even noticed the man behind Maria.
“Have you told Macy you have a commitment phobia?” Maria said on her way to hug her father.
“Knock it off, Maria,” Tom piped up. “Give the guy a break.”
Macy’s head practically spun listening to their banter.
