Her Holiday Protector. Lenora Worth

could only pray she had. When she heard footsteps shuffling up the long central hallway that led to her mother and father’s private suite in the back of the house, she whirled, expecting to see Peggy. The always-positive red-haired nurse had been with her mother since Sonia had come home a few months ago. But Peggy had worked for her family for as long as Rikki could remember, helping to raise children and take care of sick relatives.

      Her mother adored Peggy and Peggy adored her mother.

      But Peggy wasn’t standing there in the archway near the stairs to the second floor. Franco Alvanetti stopped to stare at his only daughter. “Well, I see you have arrived, at last.”

      Rikki hated the tremble inside her heart. “Yes, Father. I got here yesterday but—”

      “But you had to give the locals a report on the woman they found shot to death on your townhome patio.”

      His bloodshot eyes moved over her with a steady gaze that left most people quaking. Rikki had long ago learned to stop the quaking but she had to take a few calming breaths to make it work today. “So you know.”

      “Of course I know,” he said as he moved toward her in a stooped, aged gait. “I still have friends around this town.”

      Her father wore a plaid robe over old silk pajamas. His slippers were Italian leather, worn in spots but still expensive-looking. Even in his night clothes with his salt-and-pepper hair scattered around his olive-skinned face, he still commanded a certain respect.

      Rikki reluctantly gave him that respect. “I didn’t want to upset Mother.”

      “She is sleeping. Peggy will be out soon to give the morning report.”

      He glanced toward the kitchen. “Coffee, Regina?”

      “Yes, Papa, but I’ll make it.”

      “Good.” He waved a hand toward the industrial-sized coffee machine. “And then we can sit down and talk about this latest scandal in your life.”

      Rikki went to the cabinet and found the coffee, steeling herself against one of Franco’s soft-spoken interrogations. They used to have several servants in the house but lately, it was just her parents and a maid who cleaned and cooked, along with a day nurse. Her parents didn’t require much in the way of food or drink. Peggy and the day nurse made sure they both had nutritious food to eat.

      When had her parents become so frail?

      Feeling guilty for not checking on them more, Rikki blinked away her tears and her fatigue. “Would you like some breakfast, Papa?”

      Her father glanced up from where he’d perched on a bar stool in the way he’d done on countless mornings. “You know, I miss your mother’s cooking. She used to make the best omelets.”

      Rikki closed her eyes, the smell of breakfast wafting out as if her mother were standing at the big stove cooking and laughing and talking about her plans for the day. Sonia always had her days planned out for months, down to the pumps and jewelry she’d wear that day.

      “Of course, I’ll make you an omelet,” Rikki said. Once she had the coffee brewing, Rikki pulled out eggs, cream, cheese and vegetables.

      “Throw in some bacon,” her father said.

      When she nodded and glanced back at him, he had his head in his hands, his face down. His once-dark hair was salt-and-pepper now and his always-meaty hands were puffy with excess fluid. She’d noticed the deep bags underneath his eyes, too. Had he stopped taking care of himself?

      Rikki turned back to her work, wishing she could say something to him but then she’d never understood her brooding, distant father. Only Sonia could bring out his jovial, loving side. Her mother shone like a star in all of their lives and Sonia’s strong faith held them all together.

      “I’ll pray you through it,” her mother always said, no matter what they were dealing with. “God has blessed us in spite of it all. He’ll continue to bless us.”

       I’ll pray you through it.

      Maybe it was Rikki’s turn to pray them through the latest tragedy, to pray for Blain and the local police, to pray for Tessa’s brother who didn’t even know she was dead yet. And to pray for herself and her family, no matter what.

      But right now, she’d cook for her father. For a few minutes, she could forget about her rift with this man, forget about her mother’s illness and her own failures in life, and maybe for just this little while, she could forget about Tessa’s vacant, lifeless eyes staring up at her from a pool of blood.

      Maybe she could even forget about the way Blain Kent’s expression had changed when he’d realized who she really was, too. Because she knew the good-looking detective would hound her until he figured out what kind of trouble she’d brought back to Millbrook with her.

      Rikki intended to find out the answer to that question herself, with or without Blain’s help.

      Putting all of that aside, she flipped the omelet onto a plate and brought it over to her father with a steaming cup of black coffee. “Here you go, Papa.”

      Franco Alvanetti looked up at her with misty eyes. “This is a good moment,” he said. “Too bad about your friend.”

      Rikki couldn’t decide if her father was being sincere or not, but she felt that trembling in her heart again.

      Was it raw emotion? Or was it a warning to be aware?