Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman. Barbara McMahon

can use the lake,” he said. Glancing at the baby, he added, “And they come when their kids are older and can play by the water. We’ll be getting rain before long. It’s already colder now than a couple of weeks ago. Not very conducive to sitting by the lake.”

      “I thought maybe I could find out about Dante’s father. But now that I’m here, I’m not so sure.” It had been a foolish thought. Clutching at straws, that was what. The man could have brought her friend here for a get-away weekend. She only knew Ariana had been happy at Lake Clarissa.

      “What do you know about him?” Cristiano asked.

      “Nothing. Ariana wouldn’t talk about him at all.”

      They approached the small resort on the lake. Traffic was light on the street. The quiet of the afternoon was interrupted only by birdsong.

      “You have the last cottage, right?”

      “How did you know that?” Mariella asked, looking at him. He had obviously shortened his stride to stay even with her. She wondered if he’d come to the cottage and stay a while. She’d love to put the baby down and have some adult conversation—especially with a man so unlike others she knew.

      “I saw it was occupied when I was skiing.”

      “Do you live here year round?” she asked.

      “No.” With that one word, he changed. She glanced at him, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked ahead as they walked, not elaborating on the single-word response. But she could feel the difference, the way he closed himself off. A bleakness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. What had she said?

      “Visiting?” she probed. He’d asked enough questions, she could ask a few. Her curiosity grew. If Ariana had been around, she’d have called her up to tell her about the daredevil and how he was a poster child for sexy, virile Italian male. And speculate why he was at Lake Clarissa and discuss ways she might get to know him better.

      “Staying a while,” was all he said.

      Her curiosity arose another notch. But she didn’t know him well enough to pester with a lot of questions. Though a dozen burned on her tongue.

      The path to the cottage was packed dirt lined with rocks. Bumpy and uneven. It was a bit of a struggle for Mariella to push the stroller, but Dante loved being bounced around. He gurgled and looked enchanted with the bouncy ride.

      “Here, let me,” Cristiano said at one point, reaching out to take the stroller. His hand brushed hers as he reached for the handle and she folded her arms across her chest, savoring the tingling. Walking beside him made her feel sheltered and feminine. This was how a family should be, father, mother and baby. She blinked. No going off in daydreams, she admonished.

      “Thanks,” she said when they reached the fifth cabin. The trees shaded in the afternoon. The small stone terrace had two chairs and a small table to use when sitting to watch the lake.

      The wind had picked up a bit and it was definitely cooler than before.

      “I can manage from here,” she said with a smile. “I hope I see you in town again,” she said, feeling daring. It would be too awful to have this be their sole encounter.

      He stepped away from the stroller and looked at her. Mariella had the feeling he wanted to say something. His eyes seemed full of turmoil. But he merely nodded and said, “Maybe you will. I come to town often. Goodbye.”

      She watched as he walked back along the path, his long legs covering the distance in a short time. One minute he was there, the next gone. And he took some of the brightness of the day with him.

      She should have shown him the picture. Maybe he had seen Ariana. Where did he live? Why had her question caused the change? One minute he seemed open and friendly, the next closed and reserved. Not that it was any of her business. But she couldn’t help the curiosity. Was he married? Separated or divorced?

      She hoped she saw him again before she left.

      Cristiano walked back to the square wondering if he was losing his mind. It had been months since anything had caught his attention as strongly as Mariella Holmes had. She was pretty—granted. But he’d seen other pretty women.

      But not like her, something inside whispered. Her hair had that healthy glossy sheen that caught the light and reflected golden highlights. It looked thick and silky. He wished he could have touched it to verify the satiny feel. Her eyes were clear and honest. Her emotions shone through as they changed from steel grey to silvery.

      He tried to ignore the image of her that kept flashing in his mind. Her gentle touch with the baby, her bright smile. The way she had of brushing back her hair when the breeze blew it in her face. Was he ready to risk a normal life now? Had things finally turned for the better? He had too much baggage to think of getting involved.

      Yet she also came with baggage—a baby.

      He’d never envisioned himself as a father. Or even a husband. He liked speed, challenges, adrenaline-producing activities that confirmed over and over he was alive and living life to the fullest. His job as a firefighter was exhilarating, but dangerous. Other men on his crew were married, but he’d never felt it fair to constantly risk his life if someone was depending on him.

      He stopped along the sidewalk and gazed over the water. He knew he might never join his crew in battling a blaze again, or, then again, he might be fit to return to duty next week. No one knew what the future held. Maybe his held a silvery-eyed beauty. But he knew he had better be damned sure before going down that path.

      Mariella Holmes had domesticity written all over her. She was not for a holiday romance. It’d be best for both their sakes to stay away from her.

      Reaching the motorcycle, he sat on it a moment, watching neighbors and townspeople going about their business, shopping, greeting each other. Some waved to him and he acknowledged the greetings. Did they have secrets that would change lives? Did they have families who had kept secrets that were now coming out? Did they have sorrows and loss like those that had dimmed Mariella’s smile?

      Too philosophical for him. He put on the black helmet and started the bike. It was a short drive from the village of Lake Clarissa to the family cottage. He had liked being able to walk to the lake as a child. The happy times their family had once had seemed far away these days. Passing the driveway, he continued on, revving up his speed as if he could outrun the memories on the deserted mountain roads.

      It was after dark when he pulled to a stop at the back of the family cottage. His excessive speed would give his father a heart attack. The harrowing hairpin turns provided a challenge he loved meeting. The fabulous scenery that raced by was a strong contrast to the smoke and dust and hell of his last weeks in Rome. He much preferred the vistas the hills offered to the memory of death and destruction and loss.

      He entered the kitchen and ignored the dishes on the counter and in the sink. Going straight to the cabinet near the stove, he opened it and took down the bottle of brandy. It was far lighter than it had been last night. Not enough, now, to get rip-roaring drunk. He set it on the counter, reached for a glass, then stared at the bottle for a long moment. With a violent smash of his hand he knocked it on the stone floor where it broke into a thousand pieces, the smell of brandy filling the air.

      He didn’t need the stupor drink caused. Striding to his room, he stripped and went to take a shower, thinking of the bright smile on Mariella Holmes’ face, and the love she showered on the baby. That was what he wanted. To feel connected. To feel passion and caring and hope for the future. To love. Dared he risk seeing her again?

       Chapter Two

      MARIELLA rose at five to feed Dante. When he fell back asleep, she powered up her laptop and checked in on her clients, glad the rental cottage had Internet access. Working as a virtual assistant ensured she could work from home and at the hours that suited Dante’s schedule. It was, however, a far cry from the work she’d thought she’d