Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman. Barbara McMahon

of the others in the squad that he’d been so close to. But it wasn’t fair to her.

      Slowly he eased up. They were both breathing hard. He wished for an instant the baby would sleep all afternoon so that he could whisk her into his bedroom and make love until they were both satiated.

      “Wow,” she said softly, the tip of her tongue skimming her lips. He almost groaned in reaction.

      “Wow, yourself,” he said, kissing her soft cheeks, seeing how long he could resist her mouth.

      The baby awoke and started crying.

      Mariella pulled away and hurried over to him.

      “Oh, sweetie, what’s the matter?” She picked him up and cuddled him.

      “He was fussy eating, too,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sleep in the stroller. I’ll take him home.”

      “I can drive you.”

      “No, we’ll walk. It’s still a pretty day. We’ll be okay.”

      In only a couple of minutes they left.

      He watched as she disappeared from view. Whether she knew it or not, the love she showed for the baby was strong. She would love that child forever. Her concerns on whether she was a good mother were for naught. When would she accept that?

      He wished he could give her that knowledge.

      Mariella pushed the carriage along the side of the road, not seeing the scenery, only halfway watching for vehicles. She was bemused with their kiss, concerned by the baby’s fussy behavior. She was smiling, her heart still beating faster than normal, just thinking about Cristiano. She felt they were drawing closer. And he obviously felt that attraction she did, if his kiss was anything to go by. She wished they had not been interrupted.

      “Not that you knew you were interrupting,” she said to Dante. The baby was awake, fussy, his fist in his mouth.

      She hoped Dante would nap in the crib. She wished to turn right around and go back to spend the afternoon with Cristiano. And share a few more blazing kisses.

      Cristiano headed for the small shed in the back of the property. He entered, smelling the sawdust and polish. Slowly he relaxed. Whenever he came into the workroom he felt connected to his grandfather. His mother’s father had been a craftsman in furniture making. He’d shown Cristiano the basics and had urged him to follow in his footsteps.

      Cristiano had rebelled, as youth so often did, preferring the excitement of pitting his skills against that of a roaring conflagration and rescuing people from impossible odds—who would die if he hadn’t been there. But always in the back of his mind were the quiet peaceful times he’d worked with his grandfather in this very workspace.

      Since recuperating, Cristiano had built several small pieces of furniture. They were lined up against the side wall, polished to a high sheen, as if awaiting being taken home. He thought his grandfather would be pleased if he could see.

      He went to the stack of wood against the opposite wall. He looked at each piece, selecting one of fine cherry wood. The overall dimensions were small, but would suffice for a project. Cristiano wanted to build a table and two chairs for Dante. The baby couldn’t use a set for a couple of years, but Cristiano liked the idea of making something fine from Lake Clarissa. Once the boy was older, he’d learn of their visit to the lake. And Mariella could tell him of the firefighter who’d made him a table.

      He put the piece of wood on the worktable, already envisioning the set. Small enough for a toddler, yet sturdy enough to last for years. Mariella would undoubtedly marry at some point—pretty women didn’t stay single for long—and have more children. He hesitated a moment when thinking of her with another man. That idea didn’t sit well. Unless he licked this hangover from the bombing, there would be nothing he could do about that.

      He picked up a pencil and tape measure and began marking the wood for the first cuts.

      When the phone rang half an hour later, Cristiano stared at it, debating whether to answer or not. It was most likely his sister or father. It might be Mariella. Though he had not given her the number, the Bertatalis had it. The ringing continued. Whoever was calling wouldn’t give up. What had happened to the answering machine? He remembered—he’d unplugged it when hooking his computer to the Internet for Mariella.

      Finally he reached for the phone to stop the sound.

       “Ciao?”

      “Finally. I was wondering if you’d ever answer,” his sister’s voice came cross the line. “How are you?”

      “Fine.” He leaned against the wall, wondering if he’d made a mistake staying away so long. Still, it was good to hear her voice.

      “That’s all? Fine. When are you coming here?”

      “Why do I need to?”

      “To see us. To see Papa. Surely you’ve recovered from your injuries by now.”

      “I have.” At least the external ones. “But I’ve been busy.”

      “Come for dinner tonight.”

      “I told you I’m busy. I can’t come for dinner.”

      “If not tonight, then later in the week?”

      “Maybe.” Not.

      He heard her exaggerated sigh. “Tell me about your new friend, Mariella,” she said unexpectedly. “I liked her.”

      He remembered their kisses. Swallowing, he hoped his voice came out normal. “She’s visiting here, that’s all.”

      “Where did you meet her?”

      “I rescued her from a fire. She and the baby.”

      “She said she’d had the sauce at your house when you gave her lunch one day. That was unexpected. I sent another jar home to you with her.”

      “I know, thanks.” The memory of their lunch surfaced. She had loved the sauce. If they shared a meal again, he’d get to see her delight in the flavor.

      “Honestly, Cristiano, getting you to talk is like pulling teeth. Tell me something.”

      He laughed as a warmth of affection for his sister swept through him. He’d forgotten how much Isabella always wanted to know everything. Her curiosity knew no bounds. He missed her. “She came by to say thank you. I fed her lunch. End of story.”

      “So you’re not going to see her again.”

      “Of course I am.” A prick of panic flared at the thought of not seeing her again. One day soon, she’d return to Rome. But until then, he would see her again.

      The surprised silence on the other end extended for several seconds. Then Isabella said, “I’m planning a family reunion at the end of the month. Actually, if you can keep it secret, it’s a surprise for Papa.”

      “What kind of surprise? It’s not his birthday.” Cristiano was glad it was not a surprise party for him. Why did women want to have those?

      “Just a surprise. But I don’t want him to suspect, so, if you’re well again, I thought we could say it was a celebration of your recovery. That way he will know about it, but not that it’s for him.”

      “I’ve been fine for a few weeks now.”

      “Not that any of us knew. I haven’t seen you since you got home from hospital. If you’re really okay, come by the restaurant one day. Come to dinner.”

      “I’ll let you know.”

      “Keep the last Saturday free for the party.”

      Once he hung up, Cristiano almost groaned. Attending a party was the last thing he wanted. Yet how could he continue to deny his family? He missed them. He was fortunate to have a brother and sister, cousins. An aunt he didn’t see much of. Still, maybe he could manage one