He read on: “ ‘For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.’ ” An ache filled his chest. He knew how fragile life was. Strong, vital men evaporated. Lives charged with purpose…. Tony’s life filled with purpose, then just … gone. Lance swallowed the pain. “ ‘What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? For what can one give in exchange for his soul?’ ”
Tony’s soul was with the Lord. But his life should not have ended. They’d all been reeling since. What were you thinking, God? He clenched his hands. You got the wrong one. Like he could tell God his business. But why leave a screw-up and take the one they all looked up to?
“ ‘For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay everyone according to his conduct.’ ” That part worried him. It didn’t account for intentions. If he meant well, but still screwed up, and conduct was what mattered…. Lance rubbed his face. He set the Bible on the table. Somewhere in there it said God judged the heart. He’d count on that.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fresh basil gathered warm.
Pungent cheese.
Dough soft as baby skin.
Pressing, turning, folding, rolling.
Rhythm.
Pulse.
Laughter.
Life inhabits our kitchen.
Sorrows are lightened, burdens shared. Joy seasons
the moments passed between us on a tasting spoon.
Rese woke to the muffled sounds of activity in the kitchen and an aroma of something spicy and wonderful. Lance. She rose and pulled on a light sweatshirt over her knit shirt and lounge pants, since the mornings still held a chill. She washed her face in the small bathroom between her bedroom and the extra room she had set up as an office. She brushed her teeth and went out to the kitchen.
Lance looked over from the stove. “Morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Sleep well?” He spooned some meat mixture into the center of a thin sort of pancake.
“Surprisingly.” She had slept better than any night she’d been there, waking only once to remember Lance was upstairs.
“Good.” He rolled the pancake and placed it into a baking dish.
She yawned. “Did you?”
“I slept great—once the ghosts quit chattering.”
She half smiled. Let him have his joke; she had set herself up.
“Chai?”
She accepted the cup of tea he handed her. She could get used to this.
“It’ll be better when I can froth the milk. With the latté machine.” He poured something over the rolls in the pan then set them into the massive oven. “What’s the plan today?”
He was obviously a morning person. She pressed her hands to her temples. “Gas fireplace conversion. And I need to work on the Web site.”
“Web site?”
“You know, pictures of the rooms, rates, reservations…. What?”
He rested his hands on his hips. “Rese with a chainsaw; Rese with a sledge hammer. But Rese with a Web site? Boggles the mind.”
Now she knew how he felt when she doubted his abilities. “I took a class on it when Dad’s business needed a Web site.” By his look of incredulity, he was intentionally turning the tables. She ignored the bait. “I thought you could make up a few things as sample breakfasts. Food pictures are always a good sell.”
“Only if the food looks good.”
She noted a subtle stiffening in his face. “Won’t your food look good?”
“You tell me.”
“It ought to. That’s what I’m paying you for.” She noticed the vase they’d found in the attic. That would be a perfect accent with a sprig or two of fresh blooms from the garden. “I need to get the brochures printed and the Web site up soon.”
His expression was inscrutable. “You want the dishes photographed together or individually?”
“You’re the food man.”
He took the copper skillet from the stove top. “The kitchen isn’t exactly set up. I need to order some equipment.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t bought the TVs yet, and that’s a major expense.”
“TVs?”
“For the bedrooms.”
He set the skillet in the sink. “Why do you want to do that?” He swabbed the pan with the washcloth, then rinsed it with steaming water. “You should make this a connecting place, a get-away-from-it-all experience.”
His thought resonated in her mind as they all seemed to, but she could not picture it. “What will people do?”
He sent a look over his shoulder. “Beyond the obvious, they might talk, play games, read to each other. After touring the vineyards, people want to relax with a good merlot and a wedge of brie and let go the busyness of life.”
Like a fish surfacing for a look at the airy world above, she gave him slow-blinking curiosity. Was he serious?
He turned and met her gaze. “You want this to be special, don’t you?”
She tried not to look as though his ideas were foreign to her. But she blurted, “Read to each other?”
“Why not? And by the way, you’ve got a bocce pit out back. Framed in anyway, just needing sand.”
“A what?”
“Bocce. Italian sand bowling. You play it with a set of colored balls, like bowling and croquet and horseshoes all in one.” He toweled the pan and hung it on the wall. “But as to the kitchen … I have a catalogue that carries most of what I need.”
Rese frowned. He was intentionally distracting and confusing her. Trying to slip his ideas in again. “I hadn’t budgeted much in kitchen stuff.”
“No kidding?” He hung the towel on the rod, and then turned. “You can’t expect my best results without proper equipment.”
“Your results have been fine.”
“Really.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a skeptical and combative expression on his face.
“What’s the matter?”
He leaned his hip to the counter and studied her.
She did not appreciate the scrutiny. “If there’s something on your mind, say it.”
He turned and drained the water from the sink. “There’s nothing on my mind.”
Because he didn’t communicate with his mind, but with his heart or soul, his emotions. What was she supposed to do with that? She had never worried about her employees’ feelings. She’d been too busy protecting her own.
Rese nodded to the pan over the stove. “I bought that at an antique shop. For decoration.”
He pinged it with a flick of his fingers. “Copper’s the best heat conductor. It’s the most useful pan here.”
She sighed. “I guess you’d better show me the catalogue.”
He went upstairs and came down a moment later with a glossy gourmet kitchen supply catalogue. Even wholesale, things wouldn’t be cheap. She was frugal by nature and training, careful never to let a job go over budget if she could help it. Already he’d added the expense of the carriage house remodel.
Now it seemed he wanted a dream kitchen.
But if she didn’t purchase the electronics for the bedrooms … She tried to imagine people reading to each other and playing games, lounging around with merlot and … Okay, fine. No electronics.
She listened to the items he requested. There weren’t that many, and the most expensive by far was the latté machine. He made it all sound so good, but he’d better be there for the long haul or it would be wasted. Near the end of their search through the catalogue, he stood and removed the pan from the oven.
A warm savory wave rolled through the kitchen, and when he set a plate before her, the steaming sausage aroma made her mouth water. She couldn’t recall experiencing that phenomenon before, her mouth actually wanting what she hadn’t even tasted yet. It was ridiculous.
He sat down with his plate and spoke a blessing. His prayer surprised her less than her own impatience to take the first bi
te. When she did, it was worth the wait. She chewed carefully, enjoying the spiciness of the meat inside its delicate roll. Nothing like that came out of a box. Her guests would have the best breakfasts in town.
She cut and ate bite after bite, feeling the warmth spread into her stomach. She never had eaten last night. The fright Lance gave her had driven the hunger away, and she had forgotten that was her original intention for getting out of bed. Now she was glad to have come to breakfast hungry.
She wiped her mouth and looked up at Lance. “Do you think you’ll get to the wiring in here soon?” She didn’t want to repeat their scramble in the dark.
His jaw clenched as he stood, and he carried their plates to the sink without answering.
“Lance?”
“When do you want it done?”
She stood up. “As soon as possible.”
“Fine.” He bit the word.
What was he upset about? They’d had less than thirty minutes of conversation, and she was sure she had said nothing insulting. She had even agreed to buy his toys. Asking him to express his grievance had gone nowhere, so she shook her head and walked out. She had work to do. Lance Michelli could stew in his own juices—a phrase especially appropriate for her moody chef.
Lance refused to let her bizarre silence ruin his day. Whatever her problem, it was hers. He had the position, and that was all that mattered. Not the fact that he’d prepared something fabulous to make up for scaring her, or that they’d conversed as equals regarding plans and possibilities and purchases. No, the moment food was set before Rese Barrett she went mute. Even Nonna would throw up her hands.
After cleaning up, he went to work on the kitchen wiring. Rese had provided tools and supplies, displaying her knowledge. Interesting that she didn’t insist on doing it herself. Had she an electrifying experience in her past? Maybe it had created the dead zone in her epicurean center.
Lance fumed as he traced the wires, looking for the problem. So, it bothered him. Maybe if Rese was off with a jackhammer somewhere, he’d forget it. But she had joined him in the kitchen, pulled the stove unit from the wall and was preparing the gas feed for the fireplace on the other side.
Essentially they were working in the same space, and he had no choice but to notice. She was confident and efficient. She was also strong. He had almost asked if she wanted help with the stove, but she managed to move it without him. In fact, his offer would no doubt have been insulting, and then she would have brought up his earring. Not sure a man with an earring could help. Must make you weak and emotional.
Lance found the problem in the switch itself and set about repairing it. No fixing the short in Rese, however. No rheostat in her brain to create a gentle glow, only full flood or blackout.
“You’re mumbling.”
He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Sorry.” He focused on the wires, then catching a flash of color from the corner of his eye, he turned.
A woman had joined them, her rosy tangerine hair clipped up and spiraling down like fireworks around her face. Her lips were shiny pink, her blue eyes rimmed in iridescent green. The tail feathers of a peacock tattoo showed just above the neckline of a white spaghetti-strap shirt that barely concealed anything.
“Wow,” she said. “Feel the charge in here.”
“Star!” Rese stood up and drew in the rainbow.
Not at all the reaction he’d expected. They couldn’t know each other. She had appraised him with cool disdain when he walked in on her, but there they were, arms entangled, this Star giggling and fluffing Rese’s hair. “You’re all short again.”
“You’re red again.”
“Do you like it? I like it. It makes me impulsive.”
Rese crossed her arms. “I have news for you, Star. It’s not the hair.”
Star laughed. “I can’t believe you bought this place, but I can tell you’ve fixed it.” Her pirouette spread a flash of curls that settled on her shoulders as she faced Lance. “Who’s the sexy pirate?”
He was too surprised to answer, but Rese said, “Lance Michelli, my cook.”
Her cook. “Don’t forget maid.” He held out his hand to Star.
She slid her palm into his. “I pray you, sir, don’t jest. For you are no maid.”
“It’s a job description. That’s how I’m known around here.”
Still holding his hand she looked over her shoulder at Rese. “I knew I felt sparks.” She licked a finger and touched his wrist, making a sizzling sound. “Hot.”
Then she let go and flew back to Rese. “You always steam the men working for you.” She laughed. “Can I stay here awhile?”
Rese cocked her head. “I’m not really open yet.”
“Good, ’cuz I can’t pay.”
“Now there’s a surprise.” Rese actually smiled. “Lance is in one of the rooms upstairs. You can choose another.”
Thirty seconds to give Star a room. Three reluctant days for him. And his was temporary.
“Thanks.” Star hugged her and rushed out.
Lance didn’t care, as long as he could fulfill his purpose. But what if Star was the woman Rese had hoped for? If she decided she didn’t need him, what then? He turned back to the wall and seized the wires.
Rese joined him. “That was Star.”
“So I gathered.”
“She’s a little…”
“Impulsive.”
“Blunt.” She leaned her shoulder on the wall. “Sorry about the pirate thing.”
“I’ve been called worse.” By Rese, actually. He’d take pirate over weak and emotional.
Rese went back behind the stove. “She won’t stay long. She never does.”
Lance twisted the wire. “You could give her a job.” The dual position he currently held, for instance.
“Oh no. I want to stay friends.”
Ah yes. No smudging the line. No relationships with mere employees. At least there was no threat to his position as bondservant. He finished the connection, walked over, and threw the fuse, then went back and tried the switch. Let there be light. No more scaring Rese in the dark. Good thing. He’d almost cared.
“You did it.” Only moderate shock on her face before she squatted back down behind the stove.
He touched a hand to his forehead with a bow of obeisance, but she didn’t notice. “Guess I’ll finish the attic now.” He started toward the stairs as Star came through the front door with three brightly colored cloth bags that he guessed held clothes.
“Need a hand?”
“Sure.” She flopped them into his arms. “I have to choose a room.” She took the stairs on tiptoe, her short, filmy skirt flaring out.
Lance averted his eyes to the steps as he climbed, then stood in the hall as she danced from one room to another. She stepped inside one, and he started that way.
“Pink. Breathing pink light is good medicine. I read that in a book.”
Breathing pink light. “Do you want the pink room?” It was a blend of soft pink and cream with a rose trellis over the headboard. A little feminine, but nice.
She stepped a few feet in and turned around slowly. “How do I look?”
How did she look? He thought this was about where he could set her bags down. “You look fine.”
She pressed her hands to her head. “Fine? I need to radiate.” Star flitted past him to the room across the hall, plantation bed with a green spread and rain-forest watercolors on the walls. She extended her arms and hung her head back, her neck making a graceful arch and her chin a delicate peak. “Now?”
Lance swallowed. “Radiant.”
She flew over, grabbed his overburdened arms and pulled him into the room.
He clutched the bags. “Leave them here?”
“Yes, anywhere.”
He dropped them.
She leaned in and kissed his neck, leaving a pink smear he could feel. “ ‘How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world that has such people in’t!’ ” She stepped back and spun around.
�
�Okay then.” Lance went out rubbing his neck. His palm came away glittery. He headed up the attic stairs, wondering how he’d landed between a stone and a manic fairy.
CHAPTER NINE
Rese needed to convert the fireplace, the last big job before finishing the dining room floor and moving on to the front parlor. Alone, she had accomplished the things she’d planned each day. Then came Lance. He was shouldering a couple big projects, but since he’d come, her concentration had stunk. Now Star …
Rese sighed. She loved Star. But maintaining any sort of focus would be impossible, evidenced the moment Star came back down.
“This place is a museum!”
Rese sat back on her heels. “Not your style?”
“I love it. I truly do.” Star circled the kitchen like a firefly caught in a jar. “It’s just so old.”
Rese smiled. “That’s the idea.”
“My room is perfect.”
“The Rain Forest?”
Star giggled. “You peeked.”
“I didn’t have to. It’s the most colorful.”
“Your cook is adorable. You shouldn’t torture him.”
Torture? Rese got up, still mystified by his snit. “Lance takes things personally.”
Star’s laugh rang. “What wit resides in your fair head. You’ve no idea how you sting, but cry ‘fie!’ when they buck.”
Rese put her hands to her hips, but Star circled her neck and hugged. “Now I shall go and find me gainful employment.”
“Really?” Not that she wished to discourage her, but the thought of Star with a real job …
“Doubt not.” Star blew a kiss and left the kitchen vacant and dull, Lance’s light shining feebly.
Rese turned off the switch. Had she stung him? She frowned at the thought. His mumbling and short-tempered responses showed she might have. But how? She’d given him a room, agreed to buy his equipment. She replayed the morning’s conversation, certain again she had not insulted him. He was the one shooting barbs about the Web site.
Secrets Page 9
