Finding Isadora(22)

“I have a pot of lentil stew simmering. I’ll make cornbread. Can you pick up some wine?”

A dinner party in honor of my father’s arrest. You had to love my family. For the first time since I’d answered Grace’s call, I found a smile. “Sure, and I’ll bring along the salad I was making.”

Before I left, I called Richard. When I got voice-mail, I left a message filling him in on what had happened, and saying I’d be at my parents’ place. I imagined him shaking his head as he listened. He wouldn’t like the idea of his future father-in-law being a jailbird, and he probably wouldn’t be thrilled about me enlisting his dad to help out, but hopefully he’d understand.

On the way to the bus stop, I popped into a liquor store. My parents didn’t believe in wasting money on wine that came with a cork, so I picked up a box of Sawmill Creek merlot.

A couple of hours later, Grace and I had made significant inroads on the wine. Gabriel hadn’t called, and I’d procrastinated about telling Grace that Jimmy Lee’s new lawyer was Richard’s father. My mother and I had passed the time reminiscing companionably about old arrests.

Grace sat in lotus position on a big cushion on the floor, a thick silver-streaked blond braid dangling over one shoulder of her multi-colored Guatemalan tunic. I was curled up in a corner of the faded couch stroking Woodstock, a one-eyed cat I’d persuaded my parents to take in a few months ago. The battered stray had adapted surprisingly well to domesticity, and also to Martin and Jack, the abandoned kittens I’d given my parents a couple of years ago. They—a jumble of black and white fur—had spent the evening sleeping in a scruffy easy chair.

The entrance door buzzer rang and Grace started, then hurried to answer it. “Yes, come in.” She punched the button and said to me, “That’s Gabriel DeLuca, downstairs.”





Chapter 4


“Here?” I leaped up. Damn him, he’d said he would phone. If I’d known he was going to come in person I’d have stayed home.

“Let him in, honey,” Grace said, heading toward the kitchen.

Wait a minute. Why would I have stayed home? There was no reason to avoid the man. Besides, likely that whole chemistry thing on Saturday night had been the product of nerves. When I saw him tonight, he’d be just another middle-aged man. No, he’d still be Richard’s father and Jimmy Lee’s lawyer. I wanted to make a good impression.

I ran my hands through hair that hadn’t been combed since morning, and glanced down at my old jeans and long sweater. The sweater was a knitting project that, typically, hadn’t turned out like the picture on the pattern. I loved the nubbly beige cotton and the basket-weave pattern, but the neckline was too loose. Damn it, I should have worn a bra. My breasts were small and firm, so I didn’t really need one, but the sweater had drifted down, baring a shoulder like I was trying to look seductive. I tugged it straight. I hadn’t thought twice about wearing the sweater on the bus, but now I was self-conscious. This made twice I’d been unprepared for Gabriel, and I didn’t appreciate it.

When he knocked, I flung open the door, mad at him and at myself. “I thought you were going to phone Grace. You said—”

“Isadora? What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, sounding just as annoyed.

But his words barely registered. I was too busy staring at him. If my problem on Saturday had been nerves, then I must have a double dose of them tonight. The tuxedo-clad man had been dangerous to my peace of mind, but this one was deadly. His dark hair was loose and wavy, slightly tangled, falling to his shoulders. His jaw sported a day’s worth of stubble. His chocolate truffle eyes were even more rich and sinful than I remembered. A black cotton turtleneck hugged his torso and ancient jeans clung to his hips, thighs, legs, and everything in between.

I was checking out my fiancé’s father’s package—and liking what I saw. Feeling telltale heat rise to my cheeks, I dragged my gaze up to his face.

He was staring at me. At my face, not farther south. Had he seen where I was looking? Could I feel any more embarrassed?

“Jimmy Lee and I decided it was better for me to talk to your mother in person.” His scowl was as dark as his tone had been earlier on the phone. Clearly he was no more pleased to see me than I was to see him. Except… I couldn’t exactly say I wasn’t pleased, just desperately unsettled.

Unsettled. Was that how Gabriel had sounded on the phone? Not so much angry as unsettled? Belatedly, I realized we were still staring at each other and I hadn’t answered his question. “Grace wanted company and asked me over.”

I backed away from the door so he could come in without brushing against me. He strode in quickly and I felt as if an energy field had passed by. How could he look so damned virile? It was almost ten at night and he must have worked a full day, then spent hours dealing with Jimmy Lee’s problems.

“Gabriel DeLuca?” Grace said, and we both turned toward her. Walking gracefully across the room, she wiped damp hands on her own faded jeans, then held out her right hand.

They shook firmly. “Grace Dean,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

“You too. You’ve done some good work.”

“As have you. And Jimmy Lee.”

“Thanks for agreeing to help him.”

Their hands were still clasped and they seemed to have forgotten me. I watched them curiously, noting their immediate rapport. Though Gabriel was more than fifteen years younger, he and my mom were, in a way, veterans of the same war.