Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms. Barbara McMahon

Mostly he let the answering machine take her call.

      A lot had happened in his family over the recent months, including the startling revelation that his father had two older children by a first marriage. Cristiano still wasn’t sure what to think about that. He had not met the two men—twins who had been raised in America. It was odd to think they shared the same father.

      So far he’d found excuses that didn’t raise undue suspicions. He was running out of time, however. How long could he keep his problem from his family? He wanted it to go away, wanted life back the way it had been.

      He had loved this place as a child. It had been the first spot he’d thought of when wanting to retreat. His family was busy, fortunately. No one spent much time here anymore. Hiding hadn’t changed a thing. Maybe he should open curtains. He was not in a tight subway tunnel, but had a view of endless miles.

      “This is a terrific room. Do you use the fireplace when it gets cold?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen.

      “Of course. It’s the primary source of heat,” he said, nodding toward the large wood-burning fireplace along an outside wall. He remembered rainy days in the fall when he and his brother Valentino would spend hours in front of the fire, trucks and cars zooming around. He hadn’t seen his brother in months; he realized suddenly how much he missed him.

      Cristiano followed her into the kitchen. She sat at the table and began checking her account. He crossed to the sink and leaned on the edge of the counter looking out the window over it. The view out back was opposite to the lake, to the rolling tree-covered hills that rose so high, offering peace and serenity. Dots of color presaged the coming of winter. Five months ago he had been working in Rome,

      settled with his life, his friends. Now he was practically a hermit, his closest friend dead, his job on hold.

      But the hills didn’t care. They remained the same year in and year out. Steadfast, secure, unchanging. It gave a longer perspective than short-time occurrence. Would he recover fully? Or was it time to begin to think of another way to earn a living? Would he return to Rome and the life he’d so enjoyed, or remain a virtual recluse cut off from friends and family?

      “That was easy,” she said a few moments later.

      He looked over.

      “Hardly any mail. I did send a note to two clients telling them I might be another day or two getting back in touch. Tomorrow I’ll see about getting another laptop. Maybe in a shop in Monta Correnti.”

      “You are dedicated. I thought you were on vacation.”

      She looked at him. “I am, but I don’t consider myself any more dedicated than you going into a burning building to save lives when you’re recovering from injuries. You know I’ll be forever grateful. Keep that in your heart. Now, do you have a printer?”

      “Not here, why?”

      “I wanted to print out a picture of Ariana. I found one I could use. The one I brought with me burned in the fire.”

      “Sorry. There’s an Internet café in Monta Correnti, near the church on the plaza. They’d have a printer.”

      She shut down the computer and closed the top. “I’ll go there, then. Thanks for the use of your computer today.” She leaned back in the chair and looked at him. “So tell me, how did you get into firefighting? I think that’s one of the most dangerous lines of work anywhere—pitting your life against a raging fire,” she said.

      “I like making a difference.” A ready answer. It didn’t explore the variety of reasons he chose fighting fires as compared to police work or mountain rescue. But all were similar kinds of jobs—first responders, never knowing what would await them. Challenges to be surmounted. Never boring.

      She smiled, her eyes sparkling silver. Her hair shone in the sunshine pouring in through the side window.

      Cristiano had a stronger urge to reach out and twirl some of those tresses around his fingers, feeling the silky softness, the heat from each warm strand. Those desires rose each time he saw her.

      “Did your father want you to do something else?” she asked.

      “Probably, though he never pressured any of us. My sister works with him at the family restaurant. My brother Valentino is home less than I am.”

      “Is your brother Valentino Casali? The racing daredevil?” She looked surprised.

      Cristiano nodded. He knew Valentino had a reputation to match his daredevil ways. For the first time he wondered if their decisions had hurt their father. He took such pride in Rosa. It was a fine restaurant, but only Isabella had followed their father’s path and worked in the family establishment.

      “He got married recently, I saw that somewhere,” she said. “Not my idea of a married man.”

      Cristiano shrugged. “What would be your idea of a married man?”

      “Someone faithful.”

      “Valentino is fiercely loyal. He would always be faithful,” Cristiano was quick to say.

      “I’d also want my husband home more than he seems to be. And safe.”

      “Maybe now that he has a home and wife, he’ll change. People do, you know.”

      She nodded.

      “Other attributes?”

      She frowned in thought for a moment. “Fun to be with, able to talk and share, and I’d want a husband to want the same things I do.”

      “Sounds like you’ve thought about it for a while.”

      “Ariana and I used to talk about our dream man. Hers turned out not to be the dream.”

      “And you?”

      “Haven’t met him yet. So what do you do here all day? Not working. No television I saw,” she asked.

      “This and that.” He should tell her about the woodworking. Maybe later he’d take her to the shed to see.

      “Did you always want to be a virtual assistant?” he asked, finding it an odd sort of job for such a bubbling personality like hers. He’d picture her surrounded by office workers, working as a team player, not in a solo job from home.

      “When in university in New York, I planned to hit Madison Avenue big time. I majored in marketing—American style. But then my parents died, then Ariana. Things changed so much, I couldn’t manage that on top of watching Dante. Maybe someday.”

      “I think I heard the baby,” he said, hearing a noise in the living room.

      Mariella jumped to her feet and went to check on Dante. Two minutes later she came back, carrying a bubbling baby.

      “He was kicking his feet and saying something. I can’t wait for him to talk.”

      “I’ll start our lunch. I’ll make you some of the world’s best marinara sauce.”

      “The world’s best?” she scoffed lightly.

      “Hey, I challenge you to find better. It’s from the family’s restaurant. And you’ll thank your lucky stars you get to have some.”

      “You made it?”

      “No. My sister sends me care packages. I freeze the sauce until I’m ready to use it. It won’t take long to prepare.”

      “Time enough for me to feed this little guy, then,” she said.

      “Again?”

      “He eats a lot, that’s why he’s growing.”

      Cristiano took the sauce from the freezer, peeled off the wrapper and dropped it into a pan. Soon it began to simmer on the stove as he boiled water for pasta. He watched Mariella feed Dante while he worked. For the first time in months, he felt a touch of optimism. There was something about cooking long-familiar foods and sharing