The town of Ramblewood had been a reprieve from her overly strict Italian family since she was fourteen. And while she might have dreamed of visiting the Bridle Dance Ranch again one day, she’d never imagined returning out of desperation.
Ella, Nicolino’s wife, waved to them from the front porch of their sun-shower yellow Queen Anne farmhouse. Five children barreled down the steps toward them, causing Carina to tuck herself behind Lucy. Even though the children were Texas born, each of them greeted Lucy and Carina in Italian while shaking their hands.
“It’s wonderful to see you. I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” Ella’s melodious Southern drawl and welcoming embrace warmly enveloped Lucy. “Let me get a good look at you.” Ella withdrew, holding her at arm’s length. “Still as pretty as ever. How are you holding up, honey?”
“We’re surviving.” Lucy guardedly observed her daughter’s reactions to her new second cousins and then lowered her voice. “Carina’s having trouble accepting all of this and I feel like I’m failing as a parent.”
“My heart aches for the both of you.” Ella smothered her with another hug. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, but you’re with family now and we’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you.” Ella’s compassion intensified the pressure welling in Lucy’s chest. Her divorce from Antonio had been difficult enough for their daughter to accept, but his death had left Carina inconsolable. “That means the world to me. I don’t know if she’ll ever get past losing her father.”
“She will in time. Moving from Italy to Texas is a big adjustment. And just so you know, we only told the children about Antonio’s death.” Ella squeezed her hand. “We didn’t feel the rest was theirs or anyone else’s concern.”
The past few months had been a nightmare for Lucy, but they’d been hardest for Carina. Antonio had been so deep in debt at the time of his death that everything they’d owned had been seized shortly afterward—including their daughter’s beloved horses. Lucy hoped Carina would begin to heal now that they’d moved away from the constant reminders of what they’d lost.
“I appreciate Nicolino giving me this job opportunity and your aunt Kay’s generosity in renting us one of the cottages until we’re back on our feet. I was a bit of a troublemaker when I used to visit. I’m surprised she’s allowing me to stay on the ranch.”
“You were a cakewalk compared to her boys. Believe me—we’re all happy you’re here. Would you like to come in and have some sweet tea or a cup of coffee?”
Lucy glanced at her daughter, who couldn’t have looked more miserable if she tried. “Would you mind if we passed? I feel grungy. We’ve been traveling for over twenty-four hours and I’m anxious to show Carina our new home.”
“Of course.” Ella smiled down at the little girl. “She’s the spitting image of you. Give me one second and I’ll get you the keys to the cottage.”
Lucy brushed the hair from Carina’s face. “How are you doing, mia gattina?” She’d affectionately called her daughter my kitten since the day she was born. Three months premature, Carina had never cried loudly as a baby. It was always more of a mew.
“I can’t understand them,” Carina said in Italian. “They don’t speak much Italian and their English doesn’t sound like the English I know.”
Lucy had feared her daughter’s thick accent compared to everyone else’s Texas twang would make conversation difficult at first. “Give it a chance. Before you know it, you’ll understand everything they’re saying. The more you speak English, the easier it will become.”
“I don’t want to be here, Mamma.” Carina pushed away, continuing in Italian, “This is your family. I want to go back to our house and my friends.”
Lucy’s stomach knotted. “Sweetheart, you know we can’t do that. None of those things belong to us anymore and this is very much your family, too.”
“Why did Papà have to die?” She folded her arms tightly across her chest—her walls up once again. The pain reflected in Carina’s eyes gutted Lucy. Her fun-loving daughter hadn’t laughed or smiled since before Antonio’s death. Now, four months later, she appeared harder and much older.
Ella returned with multiple keys and handed them to Lucy. “This is for the cottage, this one’s for our house in case you ever need something and we’re not home and this last one is for my car. I’m not using it, since Nicolino bought me an SUV, so please take it for as long as you need.”
“Thank you, Ella.” Lucy fought back the tears that threatened to break free. She’d managed to remain strong for Carina’s sake and refused to show any weakness now.
“Follow me over to your place and then I’ll leave you be. Do promise to join us for dinner tonight. I’ve stocked your kitchen, but we planned a small gathering to welcome you to Texas.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Lucy answered for the two of them, knowing Carina wanted nothing to do with it. She also had the feeling Ella and Nicolino had prepared a feast rather than an intimate family meal.
After Ella had shown them around the cottage and left, they were alone for the first time since they’d departed Italy. Carina’s brows lifted in anticipation of Lucy’s next words.
“I know you were hoping for more, but this is the best I can do.” It had taken every penny to send ahead what belongings they had left and to pay for their plane tickets and the bare necessities. “I promise you, we will get through this together.”
Carina didn’t argue; she didn’t cry; she didn’t say a word, and it had become increasingly frustrating. Lucy wanted to help her daughter, but she no longer knew how. Antonio had been Carina’s confidant, and that had suited Lucy just fine. She’d wanted them to maintain a close relationship. Even after the divorce, which had been amicable, Antonio had made a point to see Carina almost every day. He’d been the one helping her with her homework while Lucy earned her master’s degree. He’d also been her dressage instructor, grooming her to be a champion one day. When he died, Carina’s dreams had died with him. And there was no convincing her that it was all right to continue pursuing those dreams in memory of her father.
Lucy glanced around the tiny two-bedroom cottage. Okay, so it was a long way from their eighteenth-century luxury villa in Parma, but the house was cozy, and for the first time in months she felt secure. Worn oak planks replaced the marble-and-parquet flooring they were accustomed to. There were Sheetrock ceilings above instead of ornate coffered ones and rustic hand-me-downs in place of her elegant furnishings.
The cottage was tidy and freshly painted inside and out. Ella had taken care to add personal touches such as handmade quilts and family heirlooms that Lucy suspected were special to her and Nicolino. Outside, freshly mulched beds filled with vibrant late-summer flowers lined both sides of the front walkway. The strawberry-colored cottage with its white trim was quaint and inviting. No, it wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, and more important...it was theirs.
“This is what they call shabby chic.” She knew Carina had already popped in her iPod earbuds and drowned out her words, but Lucy feared if she stopped moving or talking, she’d think about the last time she was in Ramblewood.
“It’s in the past.” Lucy dragged her suitcases into the bedroom. “And it needs to stay there.”
They might have lost
