Born to be Wild

by Anne Marie Winston

  After another hour of strolling the small whaling community, they worked their way to the top of the town, then decided to head back to his boat, docked at Straight Wharf. In a small ice-cream shop on the way, they found Baronessa gelati, the Italian ice cream Reese’s grandfather had established in Boston, famous nationwide now.

  “Have you kept track of the family business at all?” Celia asked as they sat on a graceful wood-and-iron bench along Upper Main Street, eating their gelati. The day was cooling but still lovely, the reds and yellows of the autumn foliage enhancing the rosy bricks of so many of the historic buildings.

  “No. It was never something that interested me much to start with. My mother used to say I was born to be the wild one.” His smile was tinged with sadness. “I guess she was right. My older brother, Nick, was the one who liked the whole business angle. We all figured he’d become Mr. Baronessa someday, and he did.”

  “Yes.” She knew that Nicholas Barone was the CEO of the family company now. “But have you heard anything about the fire or the problems the company has had?”

  Reese’s gaze sharpened. “What fire?”

  “Several months ago, in the spring, there was a fire at the manufacturing plant. One of the family members was injured—”

  “Who?” His concern was evident.

  She shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember the name. It was a woman.”

  “Colleen? Gina, Rita, Maria—”

  “No. Do you have a sister named Amy, or Annie?” Amalie. Maybe that was where the boat’s name came from. “I think it was something like that.”

  “Emily?”

  “That was it.” Her heart sank. Not Amalie, but Emily.

  “She’s not my sister, she’s my cousin. Derrick, the guy we saw today, is her brother. Was she badly hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. But the last I heard, the investigators were calling it ‘suspicious in origin.’”

  “Meaning arson.”

  “Yes.”

  “Arson,” he repeated. “Who would want to burn down our plant?”

  She wondered if he even realized he still thought of himself as a member of the Barone family. “I can’t imagine. Does Baronessa have rivals?”

  He snorted. “Every company has rivals. But there’s a big difference between competition and burning down a rival’s business.”

  “What about someone who’s angry at someone in your family? Some kind of grudge, maybe.”

  His eyebrows rose, and his eyes were focused on a distant past as he answered her. “Our family has had a sort of feud going on for years now with another Sicilian family who owns a restaurant called Antonio’s. But that feud involved my grandfather, and I can hardly imagine it carrying over into our generation. Besides, it’s impossible to imagine the Contis sanctioning arson.”

  They finished their gelati in silence, then walked back to Reese’s boat and headed home to the Cape.

  As they skimmed across the choppy sound to the marina, she thought, What a perfect day. It was too darn bad that Reese was still the most impossibly attractive man she’d ever known. And that he still could light her fire with no more than a look from those silvery eyes she’d always loved so much. It would be all too easy to get used to being with Reese again, and that would be a terrible mistake.

  Because she knew from bitter experience that he couldn’t be trusted to stay.

  When they docked at the marina he could sense that she was eager to be gone. He vaulted over the rail onto the dock before she could scurry off and said, “Let’s get some shrimp for dinner.”

  Celia hesitated. “Reese,” she said in a strained voice, “today was very nice. But I don’t think—”

  “I do.” He took her hand and started to pull her along the dock before she could refuse him. “We both have to eat. We might as well eat together.”

  “I can’t. I already have plans,” she said, and her voice was sincere. “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were going to be in town, I’d have postponed.”

  Until you were gone. She didn’t say it aloud but he suspected she was thinking it.

  Well, he had news for her. If she thought he was going to disappear from her life again, she was dead wrong.

  Whoa! Say what?

  He took a deep breath. All right. He might as well admit it. He was falling for Celia all over again and he had no intention of leaving this time. At least, not unless she came along.

  “Reese? Come back.” She was waving a hand in front of his face. “I really am sorry. But there’s something I have to do.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not as if we’re on a tight schedule.” She got a funny look on her face, but before she could pursue his statement, he threaded her fingers through his. “Give me a kiss to keep me going until tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you crazy? I’m the boss. I’d never live it down if anyone saw us.”

  He made an exaggerated crestfallen face.

  She chuckled. Then, gazing into his eyes, both hands still entwined with his, she pursed her lips and sent him a single, long-distance kiss across the space between them. She was smiling slightly, and it was the craziest thing— Despite the fact that she hadn’t moved one inch closer, the moment felt more intimate somehow, than if he’d taken her in his arms. Her eyes were tender with unspoken words and they simply stood for what seemed like a long, long time, holding the eye contact.

  He nearly asked her what she was thinking, but words would have marred the moment. Finally he offered her a crooked smile. “I guess that was an acceptable compromise.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Good.”

  “This time.” He lifted one hand and pressed a final kiss to her knuckles as he had earlier in the day. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.” She hesitated a moment, then turned with resolute steps and made her way back to the harbormaster’s shack.

  He had a solitary dinner of fried clams in his tiny mess that evening. Ordinarily he might have gone looking for a little bar where the locals traded fish and tourist tales, but if he couldn’t be with Celia, he didn’t want to be with anyone.

  Yikes. Thoughtfully, he rolled the single can of beer he’d had with dinner back and forth in his palms. Seemed like every time he allowed himself to think, his brain came up with another idea he hadn’t consciously let himself consider.

  But it was true. He didn’t want to be with anyone other than Celia. In the thirteen years they’d been apart, he’d met a lot of women, known some of them intimately. Once he’d even let a girlfriend move in briefly, just long enough to realize it was a colossal mistake. He’d never preferred spending any time outside the bedroom with a woman to hanging with his buddies, and he’d certainly never felt that he couldn’t live without one.

  Until now.

  After he cleaned up his dinner, he watched the evening news. By then it was almost dark and he took a second beer, grabbed a sweatshirt and headed topside to sit in a deck chair, prop his feet on the rail and look at the stars. It was peaceful. Most of the other yachts weren’t occupied and he practically had the dock to himself.

  So what was he going to do about Celia?

  “Hey, Reese! How you doing?” A feminine voice broke the silence.

  Damn. He really didn’t feel like being social this evening. The voice belonged to Claudette Mason, the woman he’d met the night he’d caught Celia sneaking around. He’d seen Claudette a few times since then, working around her employer’s boat or walking to and from the market, but he’d made it a point to be brief. The woman was as unsubtle as they came and clearly on the prowl.

  “Hey, Claudette. I’m great.” He purposely didn’t ask her how she was in return. Maybe she’d get the hint.

  “Hello, Mr. Barone. I’m Neil Brevery.” It was a smooth, unfamiliar masculine voice. “We haven’t met but Claudette has mentioned you.”

  Ah, hell. He rose to his feet and crossed the deck to the side, where he stepped onto the pier and extended his hand.
“My pleasure, Neil. Call me Reese.”

  The man standing before him was easily twenty years older than the curvaceous Claudette, at least half a foot shorter than he was, slight and almost comical in baggy Bermuda shorts and a brightly patterned tropical shirt. Reese wondered exactly what Claudette’s job description was; it was difficult to imagine that Brevery had hired her solely for her skills with a boat. “Are you one of the Boston Barones?”

  “Actually, I live in Florida.” He’d repeated the words many times in response to that very query and found that they usually discouraged further prying. “Just up here visiting an old friend. And you?”

  “I have several homes around the world. Strictly in warm locations.” Brevery gave a dry chuckle. “I like to visit the northern regions but I could never live here when it gets cold.” Then he gestured toward his own boat, docked a number of slips away. “Ernesto Tiello’s coming over for a game of poker. Would you care to join us?”

  “Oh, yes, please do.” Claudette was all but purring. So much for the hope that she’d tone down the vamp act in front of her employer.

  He really didn’t want to spend the evening gambling, which he loathed. And he wanted to spend it even less with a bunch of strangers. “I’m sorry,” he said, lying through his teeth unapologetically, “but I’ve got plans in just a little while. Perhaps some other time.”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Yes. We’ll be here for at least another two weeks.” Claudette struck a pose that thrust her considerable assets into prominent view.

  “We may,” Brevery corrected her. “Then again, I may take a notion to head for another port.” There was an edge to his voice. “Come, Claudette. Let’s not keep Ernesto waiting.”

  “Yes, sir.” Claudette’s eyes lowered. He got the distinct impression she’d received a reprimand, though he couldn’t imagine why.

  Brevery extended his hand again. “Nice meeting you, Reese. We’ll have to try to set up a card game for another night.”

  “Nice meeting you, also.” I’ll be busy every night I’m here. He had to stifle the urge to speak the words aloud as Brevery moved on, Claudette sauntering along in his wake.

  Damn. Now what was he going to do? He was quite sure there would be some surreptitious checking going on to see when and if he left his yacht. So much for his quiet, relaxing evening. Served him right for lying in the first place. But he wasn’t sorry. No way did he want to spend the evening fending off nosy neighbors’ questions and a pushy female’s advances. He vaulted back onto the deck and picked up his empty beer can, taking it into the galley and crushing it in the recycler. There was no help for it. He was going to have to go somewhere.

  What the hell. He’d go sit on Celia’s porch. Surely she wouldn’t mind. And it wasn’t as if she’d be home. He’d just stay an hour or so and then come back. By then, he could make excuses about an early night.

  With the decision made, he slipped into his dockside shoes and locked the cabin, then left the pier and hiked through the little town of Harwichport. Many of the tourist places were dark, but the residents’ homes had light spilling from windows and he caught the occasional glimpse of a family moving around inside.

  Families. If he’d waited for Celia, or if he’d returned when she was older, would they have had a chance? Could they have had children of their own by now, and a home filled with the same cozy scenes as those he passed? He loved Amalie dearly, but he was thirty-four years old and just beginning to realize how much he’d like to have children of his own someday.

  He tried to picture his own kids, but all he could come up with was a troop of dark-haired children much like the ones in family snapshots of his siblings and himself when they were small. A few of them had gotten coppery highlights from their mother’s brilliant locks, but for the most part they were dark-haired, wiry kids with wide, gap-toothed smiles and deep tans from their Harwichport summers. Yeah, he’d like to have a few of those.

  With Celia. Another revelation. But one he realized he’d subconsciously imagined for years.

  He wondered what her son had looked like. There were no pictures on her walls, no photographs lovingly framed and displayed, of either her son or her husband. It was as if she wanted to forget that that period of her life ever existed.

  Having glimpsed the anguish she carried in her heart the night she’d broken down and cried herself to sleep in his arms, he felt his throat tighten. He could understand how difficult it would be to live with that loss, much less be reminded of it on a daily basis every time she saw their faces. And who was he to talk? He’d suffered far less and yet there were no pictures of his family around anywhere, either.

  Reaching her house, he let himself in through the little garden gate and mounted the single step to the low porch. He took a seat in one of the old captain’s chairs she kept beneath a trellis of roses that probably provided welcome shade in the summer. It was quiet and as peaceful as the night had been earlier. There’d already been the first frost so no crickets or night insects stirred the silence. He slouched back in the chair and exhaled a deep, contented breath, feeling vaguely silly. Celia wasn’t even home and yet he was comforted just by being near her things, sitting in a spot he imagined she sat in frequently through the summer. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back. This was nice.

  Then a soft, scraping sound caught his attention. Someone was opening Celia’s front door from the inside. Instantly he was on his feet. Outrage and adrenaline rushed through him. Celia had been through enough in her life; he had no intention of allowing a burglar to destroy the secure little nest she’d made for herself. His muscles tensed as he prepared to launch himself across the porch to take down the black-clad intruder.

  And a second later he realized that the “burglar” was Celia.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, unaccountably furious at her.

  She jumped and squealed in the way only females could do. But she recovered fast. “What do you mean, what am I doing? What are you doing hiding on my front porch?”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” he said stiffly. “I thought you weren’t home and the marina was too lively, so I came up here to sit on the porch and enjoy the night.” He looked more closely at her clothing, noting the black turtleneck sweater, jeans and sneakers and the black watch cap that covered her head, and a suspicion took root. “Exactly what kind of meeting are you going to at…eight-twenty in the evening?”

  “That,” she said precisely, “is none of your business.”

  “It is if you’re up to what I think you’re up to,” he said.

  Even in the dark he could see her eyes widen with outrage. “I have a date.” Her voice was haughty. “And you’re making me late.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me.” He walked to her side. “I think I’ll just tag along and meet this date.”

  “You will not!”

  “Because there is no date, is there?” He took her arm and shook her lightly. “You’re going out on the water to do your amateur spy thing again, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was defiant. “And don’t think for a minute you’re going to stop me. I’m not a big fan of caveman behavior.”

  “I wasn’t planning to stop you,” he said, forcing a mild tone into his voice, although he longed to tie her up and keep her safe. Caveman, indeed. “But I am coming with you.”

  “Reese…no.” She sounded horrified. “What if something happens?”

  “I’m going to do my best to see that it doesn’t,” he assured her. Then, touched by the anxiety he heard in her voice, he smoothed an errant lock of hair back beneath the edge of the cap. “Celia, how do you think I’d feel if something happened to you while you were out there alone?” He felt heat creep up his neck. The last thing he wanted to do was to sound pathetic or needy.

  “I—I don’t know,” she muttered, dropping her head. “You left me alone before.”

  He wanted to shake her. “Yes, I did. Biggest mistake I ever made.”

  H
er head shot up and she stared fully at him for the first time. “What?”

  “I’m never leaving you again,” he said tightly. What the hell, he’d already opened the lid. He might as well spill the rest.

  The words froze in the chilly autumn air. Celia’s eyes were wide and dark in the dim light, and her mouth was a round O of surprise.

  “Well, hell,” he finally said. “I guess this isn’t the best way to lead into this conversation.”

  “I guess not.” But the antagonism was gone and her tone sounded almost amused. “Are you serious about coming with me?”

  He sighed. “If you’re serious about going. But I still think it’s a lousy idea. You could get hurt if the wrong people realize what you’re doing. I can’t believe the Feds would ask a civilian to do such a risky thing.”

  Celia was silent, her gaze dropping away from his again.

  “You little…deceiver,” he said through his teeth. “You haven’t been asked to do this at all, have you?”

  “They did ask me to report any suspicious behavior,” she said. “How can I report it unless I see it?”

  Reese sighed. “All right. If you insist on going, then I’m coming with you. But this is the last time you do anything like this if I have to tie you to your bed every night.”

  Her gaze flicked to his and then away again and he knew he’d stepped over the invisible line she had drawn between them.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why but all I seem to be able to think of when I’m around you is beds.”

  As he’d hoped, his wry tone lightened the tense moment and she laughed. “Soon we’re going to have to start a list of all the things you can’t talk about.”

  He snorted, turning to lead the way down the steps. “It might be easier to list the topics that aren’t off-limits.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stopped and he turned around. She raised her hands to his chest and the feel of her small, warm palms burned a hole straight through his clothes to brand his skin.