still married and still trying to find a way to convince the man she loved that he loved her, too.
“You’re thinking about Adam,” her mother said. “I see it on your face.”
Gina looked up from her place at the Torino kitchen table. She’d been assigned that chair when she was a little girl and she still headed straight for it whenever she came home again.
Sunlight speared through the wide windows her mother kept at a high gloss at all times. A clock on the wall chimed twelve times and in the backyard, Papa’s golden retriever barked at a squirrel. Soup simmered on the stove, filling the air with the scents of beef and oregano.
Nothing in this room ever changed, Gina thought. Oh, there was fresh paint—same shade of bright yellow—every couple of years, new rugs or curtains and the occasional new set of pans, but otherwise, it was the same as it had always been. The heart of the Torino house.
The kitchen was where the family had breakfast and dinner. Where she and her brothers had complained and laughed and sometimes cried about whatever was happening in their lives. Her parents, the foundation of the family, had listened, advised and punished when necessary. And each of their children came home whenever they could, just to touch base with their beginnings.
Of course, if there was something they didn’t want their parents to know, it was best to stay away. Especially from Mama. She didn’t miss much.
Her mother was standing at the kitchen counter, putting finishing touches on the lunch she’d insisted Gina eat, while waiting for her daughter’s answer.
“I must look happy then, huh?” Gina quipped and smiled too brightly.
“No, you do not.” Her mother picked up the plate holding a sandwich and some homemade pasta salad. Carrying it to the table, she plunked it down, poured two tall glasses of iced tea and took a seat opposite her daughter. “I worry about you, Gina. Two months you’re with Adam. You do not look happy. You think I don’t see it in your eyes?”
“Mama…”
“Fine,” her mother said, grabbing her glass to chug some of her tea. “You want a baby. I understand. How could I not? I, too, wanted babies. But you want them with the man you love. With a father who will also love the child you make.”
“I do love him,” Gina said and took a bite of the roast beef sandwich, because knowing her mother, she’d never be allowed to leave until she did. She chewed, swallowed and said, “Adam loved his son. He would love our child, too. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.”
Teresa crossed herself quickly at the mention of Adam’s dead son and conceded, “He did love that boy. Such a tragedy. But you know as well as everyone else he changed when he lost his family.”
Gina shifted uneasily on her chair and used her fork to move bow tie pasta around on her plate. “That’s natural enough, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is. But he does not want to move on, Gina. The darkness in him is thick and heavy and he doesn’t want it lifted.”
“You don’t know that.”
Her mother snorted. “You do not want to see it.”
Gina sighed, dropped her fork and said, “We’ve been over this.”
Teresa Torino set her glass down, reached across the table and patted her daughter’s hand. “And we will again. Until I make you see that you are making a mistake that will only cause you pain.”
“Mama…”
The older woman sat back, folded her arms beneath her copious breasts and frowned. “So. You get pregnant. Then what? You leave? Then you walk away from your baby’s father? You believe you can do this? With no pain?”
Just thinking about it was painful, but admitting that would probably be the wrong move. Besides, she was still hoping she wouldn’t have to walk away. That Adam wouldn’t want to let her go. “Adam and I made a deal.”
“Sì.” Her mother sniffed in disgust. “So your papa tells me all the time. A deal. What kind of a way is that to start a marriage?”
“Um,” Gina said, picking her fork up again to take a bite of her mom’s pasta salad—only the best in the known universe, “excuse me, but didn’t Papa go to Italy to meet you because his parents knew your parents and they thought you two would make a good couple?”
Teresa’s big brown eyes narrowed on her daughter. “You think you’re so smart, eh?”
“Pretty smart,” Gina acknowledged with a smile. “I know my family history anyway.”
“Yes, but you also know this,” her mother said, sitting forward suddenly and leaning her forearms on the yellow-and-white-vinyl-cloth-covered table. “My papa told me I should marry Sal Torino and move to America. I argued with him. Told him I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love. Then I took one look at your papa and loved him in that instant.” She lifted one hand and wagged her index finger at Gina. “One look. I knew. I knew it was right. That this marriage would last and be a good one. Can you say the same?”
Spearing another piece of pasta, Gina met her mother’s worried gaze and said softly, “I’ve loved Adam since I was a kid, Mama. One look. I knew.”
Teresa blew out an exasperated sigh. “Is not the same.”
“No, it’s not,” Gina said wearily. “Papa wanted to get married. Adam didn’t. But,” she added, “we are married. And I know he cares for me.”
“Care is not love,” her mother warned softly.
“No, but it could be. Mama, Adam needs me. I love him and I’m going to try to make this work. For both of us. Can’t you be on my side? Please?”
Astonishment crossed her mother’s features as her brown eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Standing up, Teresa moved around the kitchen table to stand beside Gina. She cupped her daughter’s face between her palms, then drew her in close, wrapped her arms around her girl and held on tightly. “Of course I am on your side, Gina. I’m your mother. I want for you all that you want. Always. I only wish to spare you pain.”
Gina held on and let herself be rocked for a while, taking comfort from the one source she’d always been able to count on. She thought of Adam, saw his face in her mind, felt his touch in her memory and her heart lifted, despite the odds being stacked against her. For two months, she’d lived with him, loved with him. She’d wormed her way into his house and could only hope she was worming her way into his heart, as well.
The chance she was taking was worth it. She had to believe that. She had to try. Otherwise, she’d always wonder if she’d given up on Adam too soon.
“I know that, Mama, I do,” she said, her voice getting more determined with every word. “But sometimes, you can only get to happy by going through the pain.”
“That wife of yours is a real hand with horses,” Sam Ottowell said as he thumbed through a sheaf of receipts for ranch supplies.
“Yes.” Adam smiled. “She is.” Then he leaned over his foreman’s desk and pulled a notebook toward him. Making a few quick notations, he dropped it again. “I want you to call Flanagan’s. Get an extra order of oats out here. With Gina’s horses here, too, we’re going through twice as much.”
“Right,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair, propping his hands on his abundant belly. “She’s really something, you know? Got those damn animals following her around like trained puppies or something. Girl’s got a gift with horses.”
She had a lot of gifts, Adam thought. Most particularly, she had a gift for throwing his perfectly organized life into turmoil. He’d hardly had a moment to himself since entering into this little wedding bargain. And the moments he did manage to find, his thoughts usually turned to her anyway.
“You hear those kids?” Sam asked, cocking his head as if