almost without missing a beat.
Whatever else he had in mind to say was lost in the shuffle when two pint-size whirlwinds burst through the gate.
“Gina, Gina! Guess what!” Frankie was first, with Mia hot on his heels. Both of them carried backpacks.
“Frankie’s dog is gonna have puppies! And Mom said we could have one!”
Gina rose gracefully and smiled at Mia, whose excitement at this good news was written all over her face. “That’s wonderful,” she said warmly.
Mia noticed Josh for the first time. “It’s gonna be a girl and I’m gonna dress it up in doll clothes,” she declared.
Frankie grimaced. “Fat chance. You do that and I’m taking the puppy back.”
“We always used to dress our dog, Charlie, in doll clothes, and he liked it,” Mia said.
“No way,” Frankie said. He turned to Josh. “Say, Josh, would you like a puppy? Last time Beauty had puppies there were seven.”
“No, Frankie. Thank you, but I don’t have enough room in my apartment in Boston for a dog.”
Frankie gave Josh a look of incredulity. “You don’t? That’s awful. You’d better move right away.”
Josh laughed, liking the look of Gina as she smoothed Mia’s unruly hair and adjusted Frankie’s collar. He’d never thought of Gina as maternal, yet he could imagine how she’d be someday with her own children, by turns solicitous and gently admonitory. They’d be cute kids, too, if they inherited her piquant features.
Gina smiled indulgently at both children. “You’d better get out to the road. It’s almost time for the school bus.”
“’Bye, Aunt Gina. See you later. ‘Bye, Josh.”
“Let me know if you want a puppy,” Frankie said before he raced after Mia.
“Mia said she lives next door, but I didn’t realize that Frankie and Rocco lived so close,” Josh said into the silence they left behind.
“They’re right down the road. One of the reasons I bought this place was that my sister and Rocco were nearby.” She knelt and began to pluck weeds from the soil, turning her back toward him.
Josh sat down on a low stone bench nearby. “You mean the cottage wasn’t always in the family?”
Gina took note of his occupation of the bench, seemed about to say something, then perhaps thought better of it. She shook her head. “This was a country store that was put out of business by the convenience stores that started springing up around here a few years back. The owner moved away and I bought it for my herb business a year and a half ago. I was lucky that I could live above the shop. I hated to move out of Mother’s house, but she was ready to scale down to an apartment by then, she said. She’s getting along fine, and so am I.”
“Most of the people I know could hardly wait to move out of their parents’ homes,” he observed carefully. Gina was how old now—twenty-nine? No, thirty-one. That was a long time to live at home.
She must have noticed his perplexity because she appeared to feel the need for explanation. “Mother needed me after my father died,” she said quietly. “They were inseparable, and his final illness exhausted her. Barb had already married, and it was up to me to take care of our mother. She’d always been a stay-at-home mom and was faced with getting a job, which I thought would be a difficult adjustment. Fortunately, she’s launched a new career with Aunt Dede’s catering service and loves it.”
Josh would bet that Maren Angelini was every bit as independent as her daughter. “I like your mother,” he said.
“Most people do.” Gina stood up. He did, too, following her as she headed back toward the cottage. She stopped at the back door to wipe the mud off her feet. “Now,” she said with the utmost patience, “I’d better go in and get ready for the rest of my workday.”
“What time does the store open?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be back to buy something.”
“Josh, stop it. You’re a pest. Go. Now.” She wasn’t as put out with him as she sounded, if he judged her correctly. Her mouth quirked up at the corners, and she couldn’t hide the warm amused light in her eyes.
“Okay, okay, I’m out of here. But remember, Gina, the Big Bad Wolf only pretended to leave. Once he was out of sight, he circled around the woods until he could surprise Little Red at another juncture in the road.”
He thought she might burst into laughter at that, but she only lifted her eyebrows. “Well, Josh, you’ve described your MO very well so far. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when you show up at Grandmother’s house wearing her nightcap and sleeping in her bed.”
She’d given him an opening and he delighted in using it. “It’s not your grandmother’s bed I want to sleep in. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
Again he thought she might laugh. But she only said, “Ooh, Grandma, what big teeth you have.” Then she tripped on into the house and shut the door in his face.
Josh laughed to himself and went off to find a place where he could buy a decent cup of coffee. Then he’d make a few phone calls. If all went well he might be able to arrive back here by ten o’clock or so.
He wasn’t about to give up on Gina so easily.
JOSH DIDN’T WASTE TIME on any of the trendy tourist hangouts around town. He discovered a real old-fashioned diner called Mom’s on the outskirts of Rio Robles, its squatty silver shape boldly contrasting with the hazy mountain peaks in the distance. After quickly sizing up the vehicles in the parking lot, he decided that the large number of pickups boded well for finding a lot of grape growers inside. He’d dressed in jeans and a plain gray sweatshirt so he’d fit in with the locals, and when he sauntered in, hardly a head turned in his direction.
The tantalizing odor of bacon and fried onions assailed his nostrils. The regulars spared glances in his direction before returning to their conversations or newspapers. “Coffee, please,” he said to the guy behind the counter as he hoisted himself up on a red-vinyl-and-chrome stool. The guy stood almost seven feet tall and had to stoop to walk into the low-ceilinged area where the coffee was made, and when he returned with Josh’s cup, Josh saw that the name written on his uniform was Mom.
“Hey, Mom, I’ll have another one of those doughnuts,” called a man sitting at the end of the counter. Mom reached into a covered container, withdrew a powdered doughnut and tossed it under his arm to its intended recipient. Whereupon everyone chuckled, including Josh.
“Good old Mom, he keeps it lively in here,” said the man next to him. He set a folded copy of The Juice: A Journal for Growers down beside Josh and took a long pull from his cup.
“That’s his real name?”
“Yeah, ’fraid so. It’s Momford or Mumford or some unfortunate name like that. I can sympathize, since my parents named me Maurice. I go by Mike.”
Josh extended his hand. “Josh Corbett,” he said.
“Oh,
