prepared by the aunts and listen spellbound to tales of the old country told by her grandfather and great-uncles. She hadn’t known it then as she knew it now: her family was her strength. They made it possible to bear whatever obstacles life threw in her path.
A group of whooping youngsters ran up to greet them. They grew suddenly silent and wide-eyed at the sight of Josh.
“You’re the guy from the TV show, right?” asked Emma, the daughter of Gina’s cousin Jennifer.
“Sure am,” Josh said easily.
“Why didn’t you marry Aunt Gina?” piped a voice that Gina identified as Alexander, her cousin Donna’s son.
“Alexander!” Gina said.
“I want to know,” the boy said stubbornly.
“Did it occur to you that I might not have wanted him?” Gina said lightly, ruffling Alexander’s hair with one hand and squeezing Emma’s shoulder as they began to walk toward the tables.
“He is rather handsome,” said Mia’s sister, Stacey, after unabashedly staring at his profile.
“Thank you,” Josh told her gravely. “For sticking up for me.”
Gina’s cousin Rocco, his beefy face flushed from the heat of the barbecue fire, detached himself from a group of men—all uncles, nephews or cousins.
“Hey, Gina. How about introducing me?” He was studying Josh, taking in the highly polished leather shoes and the blazer, now casually slung over one shoulder. Rocco stopped in his tracks. “No, wait a minute. You’re the Mr. Moneybags guy, right?”
Josh extended his hand. “Otherwise known as Josh Corbett,” he said.
Rocco’s expression didn’t change, but Gina knew what he was thinking. Got to protect my little cousin from this guy who did her wrong. Got to vet him out. Got to let him know he can’t treat her the way he did before. She suppressed a laugh at the almost imperceptible but defensive change in Rocco’s body posture and the cool handshake he offered Josh. Rocco had always been her protector; she couldn’t expect him to abandon her now. The Angelini men looked after their women. Never mind that Gina had outgrown her need for their services by the time she was ten and had learned a couple of handy karate chops. And Rocco, like everyone else, had never realized how miserable she’d been after Josh Corbett’s rejection.
Rocco raised inquiring brows at Gina, who nodded to let him know that it was all right to admit Josh into the family circle. At least for today, while she tried to come to terms with his reappearance in her life.
At her signal, Rocco’s demeanor changed immediately. “Welcome, Josh. Come over and meet the guys. We’ve got a game of bocce going.”
“Bocce?”
“Yeah, we put in regulation courts last year. What’s the matter, haven’t you played before?”
Josh, for the first time all day, appeared discomfited. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
“We’ll take care of that.” Rocco threw a casual arm across Josh’s shoulders and led him to the bocce court, where a group of Gina’s male relatives were watching his approach. Her cousin Paul shoved an elbow into his brother’s ribs, and Gina almost laughed out loud. After a couple of games with those guys, Josh would be running for the hills. They were experts.
Josh aimed a pleading glance over his shoulder at Gina and mouthed “Help!” but all she did was smile and wave as if they had the most friendly relationship in the world. At the same time, she felt grim satisfaction in the thought that Rocco and company would probably accomplish what she hadn’t been able to do today—get rid of Josh Corbett for good.
Chapter Two
Rocco was a stocky man, the beginning of a paunch swelling beneath his T-shirt. His quick introductions made Josh’s head spin: Gathered around the bocce court was a Tom, a Tim and at least two guys named Tony, all even bigger than Rocco. They eyed him with what seemed like suspicion as he removed his blazer, assessing his muscles. Rocco showed him where to hang his coat over a low-hanging branch and proceeded to explain bocce.
“My grandfather and uncles brought the game over from Italy with them, and we grew up with it,” Rocco told him.
Josh opened his mouth to say that he’d never seen a bocce ball, nor had he ever observed any games, but Rocco didn’t give him a chance to speak. The game, Rocco said, was played on a long sand court that appeared to be about ten feet wide by sixty feet long. The brightly colored bocce balls seemed slightly larger than those in the old croquet set that Josh had shared with his sister at their summer house in Maine, but no mallets were involved, so Josh assumed that bocce balls were thrown or tossed.
“Now, Josh,” Rocco told him. “You don’t have to be Italian to learn this game. Right, Collin?”
The other man, standing with a bunch of mostly male onlookers, just grinned. This, Josh decided, was not encouraging.
“Collin married into the family, but that doesn’t make him any less an Angelini,” Rocco confided. “Even though his last name is Beauchamp.”
“Of the Virginia Beauchamps,” Collin said. “Spelled the French way, pronounced Beecham.”
Josh had known some Beauchamps at his posh northeastern prep school, but mentioning that exclusive institution didn’t seem like a good idea, considering the good-natured guffaws that greeted Collin’s statement.
“The game can be played indoors or outdoors, and there can be two to four players on a team. Four balls are assigned to each team. You’ll play on my team,” Rocco said.
Tim and Tom were also on Rocco’s team. The other team consisted of the two men named Tony, someone called Angelo and an older white-haired guy named Fredo, who was treated deferentially by everyone involved.
“First, the pallino,” Fredo said, holding up a ball that was smaller than the others. There was a coin toss, and Fredo’s team won the right to throw the pallino. Fredo rolled it onto the court, where it inched to a stop a little more than halfway to the end. At that point, Josh craned his head to search for Gina and discovered that she was surrounded by a bevy of women close to her age, all of them talking and laughing. Gina was holding a baby, patting it on the back and crooning to it, and paying no attention to what was going on over here.
While Josh was looking elsewhere, Fredo rolled one of his team’s balls, to the accompaniment of shouts of encouragement from his own team and groans from Josh’s team when the second ball rolled close to the pallino.
“Kiss it, kiss it!” cried one of the Tonys, which Josh figured meant that he wanted the two balls to touch. He shot another surreptitious glance toward Gina, remembering with a pang of regret the sweet softness of her lips. He must have been crazy to turn his back on her in Scotland.
“All right,” Rocco said, interrupting his reverie by slapping a ball in Josh’s hand. “Now you.”
Josh, whose mind for the past few moments had been engaged in wistful remembrances of a heather-strewn moor, stared at him blankly.
“Go ahead. We have to bowl until one of our balls is closer
