Loving the Lawman. Ruth Logan Herne

do.” She pointed to the road, where a yellow moving van had pulled up. “My cousin and brother are my slaves for the moment. I promised them food to help me. They’re Italian men so it really doesn’t take much more than that.”

      “That works well on us Scottish guys, too,” Seth admitted with a grin. She absolutely, positively refused to label his smile endearing or sweet. A smile was just a smile. Right?

      One look up at him told her how wrong she was. Time to change the direction of her gaze. She turned and swung open the door to the small side porch. “The fact that I’m taking Gram off their hands sweetened the deal. Italian women are bossy by nature—something that doesn’t appear to wane with age.”

      Seth laughed, understanding, while Gianna looked around the quiet, snow-filled, lakeside town. “She’s going to love it here. I could see that the minute we rolled into town. For Grandma, this is like coming home.”

      Seth nodded agreement. “My grandma loved living in Kirkwood. It was her place, her town. Her history, she called it. Will your grandmother miss your old place?”

      Gianna shook her head. “Not if there’s a sewing machine handy. I get my affection for old things from her. She taught me to sew when I was barely old enough to thread a needle, and I loved it. So this venture into my own brick-and-mortar business is a big step for both of us, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be content. I know I will.”

      “Well, good.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as two dark-haired young men headed their way. “You guys need help?”

      The taller one eyed the freshly shoveled driveway and shook his head. “I think we can back her up right here and unload to this porch. That way we can keep the snow and wet out of the house.”

      “I agree.” The shorter man stuck out a hand to Seth. “I’m Mauro, Gianna’s cousin.”

      Seth shook Mauro’s hand and turned toward the taller man. “That makes you the brother.”

      “Joe Rinaldi. Nice to meet you. You’re the landlord?”

      “Seth Campbell. I live over there.” Seth indicated his house with a general wave across the street. “If there’s anything your sister or grandmother need, I’m nearby.”

      “Good to hear since her entire family and support network will be over five hours away, in good driving conditions. With the exception of my seventysomething grandmother.” Joe’s tone scolded, but Gianna knew he meant well. Protecting her had become the order of the day after she had lost Michael.

      You didn’t lose him. He was taken from you. Stolen, in the dark of night. One simple moment of time, a twist of fate, and your life turned upside down.

      It had, but she was determined to get her life back, with or without Bianchi approval. And about time, too. “Joe, really?” Gianna motioned to the truck. “Gram can outwork all of us, so it’s great to have her on board with this new venture. Back the truck in here and let’s get this done. We are not having this conversation again.”

      “That’s because you don’t have to deal with the multitudes of relatives on both sides,” he called over his shoulder as he and Mauro headed back to the street. “But I’ll run interference for you. It’s what brothers do.”

      Seth turned, arched a brow, and the look on his face said she’d just become more interesting. “You ran away from home, Gianna?”

      She laughed and shrugged as she stepped back inside. “In a manner of speaking. My family is American by birth but old-world Italian by nature. They like their ducklings to stay close to the nest, marry other Italians and raise a bunch of cute Italian babies within five minutes of the family home. I’m bucking the trend.” She let her smile include the old-fashioned setting surrounding them. “But they’ll all be okay with it once I’m here and settled. The idea that I’m making a move like this while they’re in Florida is giving my mother and aunt agita.”

      “Heart palpitations.”

      She tipped her face up to him as he moved to the door. “You’re not Italian.”

      “No, but I’ve got buddies who’ve caused their mothers a little agita now and again. I get it.”

      She nodded as she held the door open. “They know we’re moving here, but I didn’t exactly do this with a nod of approval, if you know what I mean. By the time they come back north, Gram and I will be settled in. We’ll be sewing up a storm of vintage-looking clothing for retail and special orders, we’ll have the gently used clothing part of the store set up for business and all will be well with the world.”

      “Spring is a wonderful thing around here.” Seth jutted his chin across the lamplit village road as he stepped outside. “Remember—I’m right over there if you need anything.”

      “I won’t forget,” she promised. She watched him walk up the slick black asphalt and thought how solid and safe he looked. Square shouldered, light eyed, brown hair cut short, flat on top, a don’t-mess-with-me set to his jaw, his gaze. But when he smiled or laughed, his joy welcomed like a big, old hug.

      And it was nice to know he lived close by. She’d mentioned that her mother was protective, but that was like calling a Category 4 hurricane a minor storm. She’d stretched the truth by minimizing her family’s love and care. She had to, because she’d taken other steps without her family’s knowledge, choosing a path that couldn’t be backtracked.

      If Sofia Bianchi—her mother—knew what she’d done, she might think Gianna had totally lost it. And Mike’s mother, her former mother-in-law? Another battle to wage, even more difficult in some ways, but not yet. She’d bought time by moving this far away. Faith and time were what she needed right now. She had until spring to get things in order. Four months to make things happen before the older generation returned. And with Gram’s help, that was just what she intended to do.

      * * *

      The subzero windchill seemed less irksome as Seth strode toward the café in search of an early supper. The diner would have their every-Saturday meat-loaf special, but he wasn’t in the mood for meat loaf.

      Tori hated meat loaf. Remember how often you pushed her to try it? Why did you do that? Was it really all that important?

      Seth shoved the internal scolding aside to make room for the greater ache in his heart. Another Christmas gone. Another empty holiday put behind him. In the cold, late-day light of early January, darkness seeped into him.

      What was she doing now? Was her mother cherishing her? Or was the girl’s presence cramping her mother’s style? And then what would Jasmine do?

      Regret threatened to overtake him, but what would he change? Falling in love with the wild beauty of Jasmine on her good days? Or the grace and peace he found in the short years he’d had to father Jasmine’s daughter from a prior relationship? Tori. Sweet, earnest, yearning for love, happy with the smallest things, not an ounce of greed in her.

      You’d change the abandonment, his inner voice scolded. And over two years of wondering where Tori is. What she’s doing. And if Jasmine is taking care of her, or putting herself first in typical style.

      He had no way of knowing, and despite being a cop, no way of finding out. So he hoped...and prayed...and tried to leave it in God’s hands. But on quiet afternoons like this one, when there wasn’t enough work to grip his hands, much less his heart? On those days, his mind leaped to various scenarios of where Jasmine was now and who was caring for her beautiful, nearly twelve-year-old daughter.

      Not one of the imagined scenes involved a picket fence and regular meals.

      He sighed, hauled open the door to the café, forced a smile and hailed the owner. “Tina, how about a cup of coffee and one of your ham-and-Swiss panini?”

      “With banana peppers, mustard and extra cheese.” She slid the mug across the counter to him, made a little face of understanding, then reached out and patted his cheek. “Seth, you old bear, you