Rebecca Winters has written over forty-five books for Harlequin Romance® and is an internationally bestselling author. Her wonderfully unique, sparkling stories continue to be immensely popular with readers around the world.

Praise for
Rebecca Winters:

“Winters weaves a magical spell that is unforgettable.”

—Affaire de Coeur on The Nutcracker Prince

“[A] rare gem…an emotionally gripping story of forbidden love.”

—Romantic Times on Second-Best Wife

“A delightful tale in which love conquers all.”

—Romantic Times on Three Little Miracles

Rebecca Winters, an American writer and mother of four, was excited about the new millennium because it meant another new beginning. Having said goodbye to the classroom where she taught French and Spanish, she is now free to spend more time with her family, to travel and to write the Harlequin Romance® novels she loves so dearly.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her Web site at: www.rebeccawinters-author.com

Rush to the Altar
Rebecca Winters

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

“HE WAS good-looking before in a dark, dashing way. Now he’s handsome as sin, but you wouldn’t want to tangle with a man fighting his demons! I’ll do his vital signs before I leave the floor.”

Riley Garrow had been lying propped in his hospital bed at St. Steven’s counting the minutes until Bart Adams arrived.

Some of Riley’s friends and colleagues as well as those of his deceased father had been in and out of his room at one time or other in the last two months. However faithful Bart, his dad’s closest buddy and confidant, had been the one to serve as Riley’s lifeline to the outside world during his convalescence.

But it was Sister Francesca’s voice, not Bart’s, he heard out in the hall. He had the strongest suspicion the head nurse had intended for him to overhear her.

Theirs had been an ongoing battle of the wills. Her psychiatric training hadn’t prepared her for Riley’s refusal to let her explore his inner self—the core, as she put it, where he really lived. The persona he showed to the world was a mere facade hiding the wounded soul struggling for help from within.

He loved baiting her when she started to pull her psychobabble on him. Since there wasn’t anything else to do during the long boring hours, it made his day pushing her buttons.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he would say to her, waving his index finger before her shrewd brown eyes. “Control, Sister. Control. Don’t forget you’re a role model for the sweet young postulants under your care.”

At that point the gentle lines of her face would harden while she fought with herself to remain calm and collected.

“You’re absolutely impossible,” she would mutter before leaving the room in exasperation.

“I’ve been told that before by a number of women who’ve warmed my bed,” he would call after her before bursting into laughter.

When she went off the day shift she briefed the night staff personally if they were new to the floor. After eight weeks and several plastic surgeries to graft skin from his leg to the area around his right eye and cheek, he knew everyone’s schedule.

Unfortunately the only female nursing help who came and went from his room were lay nuns. That was something Sister Francesca had probably rigged up too. Surely there couldn’t be that many women in Santa Monica, California, rushing to take vows of chastity and obedience.

He stared at the four sterile walls of his cage. “Sixty days without a real woman— No wonder I’m chomping at the bit to get out of here!”

“Your protest has been noted.” Sister Francesca floated into his room pretending she was mother serenity herself this evening. “It appears heaven has heard your prayers at last, Mr. Garrow.”

He smiled up at her. “I didn’t think heaven listened to impossible men.”

“They’ve made an exception in your case on behalf of all the sisters at St. Steven’s who go to their knees the moment before they enter your room, and as soon as they leave.”

“All?” He arched one black brow. “Isn’t it a sin to exaggerate, Sister?”

She started taking his vital signs. “After examining you on his rounds before dinner, Dr. Diazzo informed me you’re being discharged in the morning.”

Riley’s eyelids closed tightly for a moment.

“I thought that news would please you.”

He opened them again. “Since I know you’d be forced to do penance if you lied, I have to assume you’re telling me the truth. For once I’m happy you invaded my privacy.”

Her brows lifted. “For once I’m overcome by the admission.”

“Don’t let pride carry you away, Sister, otherwise you’ll have to say extra novenas after vespers. Tell me—are you going to be here in the morning to make certain I never darken your doorstep again?”

“I’m afraid not. After the burden it has been taking care of you, I’m going on retreat with some other sisters.”

“Where does a nun go exactly for a well-earned vacation?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Ah, come on. You can tell me. I can keep a secret as well as a saint.”

“If it will prevent you from bothering the other sisters, let’s just say I’m returning to the Good Shepherd Convent for a short period of rejuvenation and study. I need it after the draining last eight weeks being in charge of your case.”

Riley chuckled. “Rumor has it you’re a devotee of Thomas Aquinas. He would be proud of you for following his example. You work in a hospital, serve the sick. You preach purity and peace to the heathen,” he teased her. “I’m partial to Francis of Assisi myself.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. No doubt like him you’ve done your share of street brawling because of a misspent youth.”

“Would it surprise you to learn I even spent time in a Perugian prison?”

She took off the blood pressure cup. “Nothing about you surprises me. Unfortunately the similarities between you and Francis of Assisi stop there, Mr. Garrow. His incarceration led to a spiritual conversion.”

“How do you know mine didn’t? Uh-uh.” He put up his finger. “Don’t judge this book by its cover.”

“It’s the cover that has gotten you into so much trouble.”

If he weren’t mistaken, her eyes took on a haunted look as she studied him. For a brief moment they reminded him of Mitra’s eyes when she used to worry about him.

“I’m leaving the hospital, not dying, Sister. You won’t be getting a last rite’s confession out of me, but I do have a gift for you.”

“A nun doesn’t ac—”

“Spare me the lecture,” he broke in without remorse. “This is one I guarantee you won’t refuse.”

Acting as if she hadn’t heard him, she placed a jug of fresh ice water from the cart on his bedside table, but he knew she was dying to hear more.

“You’re not even going to ask what it is?”

“Need I remind you that for it to be a true gift, the right hand mustn’t let the left hand know what it’s doing?”

“I’m not the one striving for perfection. You, however, are very close to that sublime state and wouldn’t dream of stooping to a petty weakness like curiosity. Therefore I’ll tell you I’ve made a donation to your convent in honor of Sister Francesca.”

When his declaration penetrated, she bowed her head.

“You may not have succeeded in getting me to bare my soul, but you’ve convinced me there are angels on earth. Thank you for preventing me from giving up when I was at my lowest ebb. For that you’ve earned a permanent place in this sinner’s heart.”

No doubt she was hiding her face because she didn’t want him to see the moisture filling her eyes, another sign of weakness she was determined not to display.

As she turned to push the cart out of the room she said, “Ever since you were brought in here, you’ve been in my prayers, Mr. Garrow. You always will be.”

“That’s a comforting thought. With you as my advocate, maybe there’s hope for me after all. Take care, Sister.”

“God bless you,” she whispered before disappearing from the room.

No sooner had she left him alone than Bart entered.

“Sorry I’m late, but I think you’ll forgive me when you see what I’ve brought you. I dug through my old things in the trailer to find this for you. It was published while you were working in Brazil with your father.” He handed him a copy of International Motorcycle World.

The October issue from last year showed a female on the cover with a blond braid swinging below her helmet. She was riding through a farmer’s muddy field on a motorcycle. There was a doctor’s satchel strapped to the back. The caption read: Even a modern day American vet still rides an old Danelli-Strada 100 Sport Bike to work because they’re built to last forever.

“Go ahead and take a look while I get us a couple of soft drinks from the machine.”

“Thanks, Bart.”

The magazine had been printed the same month his father had been killed doing what he loved best. With an eagerness Riley hadn’t felt about anything for a long time, he opened the magazine. A small paragraph on the inside about the cover said, “The children in Prunedale, California, call her the ‘mad’ vet as she rides around on her trusty cycle.”

He chuckled before turning to the main article. His first surprise came when he learned there were two men involved in the creation of the original company; Luca Danelli and Ernesto Strada. Riley had always thought Strada meant it was a street bike because strada was the word for street in Italian.

The story followed their fascinating lives from their childhoods in Italy, through the World War II years and beyond to the culmination of their dream to build a motorcycle empire in Milan.

Riley and his father had always performed their stunts on Danelli-Strada bikes. Then much to the motorcycle world’s chagrin, all manufacturing suddenly ended. His parent had insisted Danelli-Strada was the only brand to be trusted and never could understand why it had gone out of business.

“Listen to this—” Riley said as soon as Bart came back in the room. “After Ernesto Strada died, Luca Danelli lost heart, stopped production and dropped out of the manufacturing scene.” He put down the magazine. “So that was the reason.”

The older man opened one of the colas and handed it to him. “Keep reading.”

After swallowing the contents in one go, Riley picked up where he’d left off.

International Motorcycle World has learned that once again Danelli motorcycles are being manufactured at their new headquarters in Turin, Italy. This announcement comes from CEO, Nicco Tescotti, who granted International Motorcycle World’s chief staff writer Colin Grimes an exclusive interview.

Racers around the globe are ecstatic in welcoming back this manufacturing giant after a long dearth. Already the new prototype called the Danelli NT-1 is clocking faster race times than any of the competition. Everyone else better move over because once again Luca Danelli is making his genius known. According to Tescotti, the company is here to stay.

Excitement swept through Riley’s body. Maybe Sister Francesca’s prayers for him hadn’t been in vain after all. He lifted his head to find Bart smiling at him.

“I thought that article might put a light in your eyes.”

“Might?” Riley blurted. “This has to be my lucky night.”

“How come?”

“I was just told I’m getting out of here tomorrow.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard since the plastic surgeon promised he could fix up your face like new.”

Not exactly like new, but Riley could live with the subtle changes and wasn’t about to complain.

“With this article I know exactly where I’m headed after I leave the hospital. You must have been inspired to bring it to me.”

“For years now I’ve been aware you wanted to pursue your own career, but you couldn’t do anything about it while your father needed you so badly.”

If Bart knew that, then he knew a lot more than Riley had given him credit for.

“I also happen to know the only reason you worked as a Hollywood stuntman for the last year was to make some fast, big bucks to pay off the bills he left owing.

“Now that you’ve accomplished your objective, I’m anxious to find out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. I figured the news about Luca Danelli would get your mind thinking. As I recall, Italy always did feel like home to you.”

Riley nodded. “It was home to me for many years. Now I’ve got another reason to go back.” There was one more debt to pay…

He eyed the other man for a long moment. “Dad said you were the best friend a man ever had. He knew what he was talking about. Thanks for being here for me, Bart.”

The burly older man’s eyes watered. “I never had a wife or family. You kind of filled that spot, you know?” he said in a strangely gruff voice.

“Until Mitra straightened me out, I thought you were my uncle.”

When they’d both had a good laugh, Riley levered himself from the bed to give him a bear hug. “I promise to keep in touch with you.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You didn’t like any of the scripts I had sent over?” D.L. thundered.

Annabelle Lassiter, known to her family and closest friends as Ann, met her agent’s incredulous gaze across the lunch table at Pierre’s without flinching. “I’m sorry, D.L., but I don’t want to be typecast, and I don’t happen to think any of these scripts are worth the paper they’re printed on.”

His thick red brows bumped together. “Listen to me—if you want to make a real name for yourself in this town, you’d better stop being so choosy. You may be a long-legged, classy looking blonde with a load of natural talent, but one successful film with Cory Sieverts doesn’t guarantee a lifetime of work. You have to pay your dues, honey.”

“I’m aware of that, but I refuse to act in a film aimed at sex-obsessed eighteen-year-old boys. That’s all these are.” She stared pointedly at the four scripts she’d put on the table.

“That’s what’s selling these days!”

“It’s disgusting, D.L. I want something meaty like an Anne of a Thousand Days.”

He pursed his lips. “A plum like that only comes along once in a decade. Even then those historical films don’t always bring in the big bucks for the studios. You need to keep in mind you’re already twenty-eight years old, that’s over the hill for an actress.”

“Thank you very much.”

She knew it was true, but like any woman with red blood in her veins, she hated to hear it.

“I’m your agent. You pay me to tell you things like that for your own good. In your case you have to keep your name and gorgeous face before the public on a continual basis or it’s curtains for you.”

Maybe it was…

“Perhaps I should move to England and try to get work in the theater.” It had been Colin Grime’s idea. Their long distance romance was difficult with him based in London and her in L.A.

D.L. looked scandalized. “You’d be a fool to do that when you already have a foot and a leg in the door here. Before you ruin what we’ve already got going for you, I have something else to tell you about. It’s still in the works, but I can guarantee you a part.”

“What is it?”

“A couple of writer friends of mine have been kicking around the idea of a survivor movie. It’s strictly hush-hush at the moment. You’d be perfect for one of the older female roles.

“All I have to do is let them know you’re interested. It’ll be the biggest box office hit of the season. At that point you’ll receive the kind of attention that will allow you to pick more of the type of projects you want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, D.L. That’s not the kind of acting I’ve dreamed of doing since I was a teen. If you want to know the truth, I’d be ashamed to show my face in anything so crass.”

His eyes squinted at her. “What happened to the woman who was one of those television contestants on, Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire? And what about that Hollywood benefit you were in, Who Wants to Marry a Prince? The one your twin sister had to make good on instead of you? You want to talk crass?” he bellowed.

Trust D.L. to hit her where it hurt most.

“I admit there was a time when I was so desperate to get noticed by a Hollywood mogul I’d do just about anything, but I’ve changed since then.”

“You’ve changed all right.” He got up and tossed three twenty dollar bills on the table. He was furious. “When you’re down to counting pennies again, don’t phone me.”

“D.L.?” she called to him before he’d stalked away with the rejected scripts. “I appreciate everything you’ve done to help build my career. Please don’t be so angry that you write me off prematurely.”

He eyed her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I had you figured for someone a lot hungrier.”

“You mean you thought I was capable of selling my soul.” Pain shot through her. “It hurts to realize I gave you that impression. I have only myself to blame.”

“You’re damn right about that! When I get back to my office there’ll be at minimum forty calls my secretary has taken since nine this morning from two-bit actresses who’d walk through fire to be in your position right now.”

“I know.” Once upon a time she’d been one of them. “Thank you for the delicious lunch. I’ll pay next time.”

“There may not be one.”

“All I’m asking for is a decent script!”

“Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered before skirting the tables to make his exit.

As soon as he was gone, a dejected Ann left the restaurant and headed for her condo only a couple of miles away. After letting herself inside, she dashed to the kitchen to call her sister. But the red blinking light on the phone prompted her to listen to her messages first.

“Ann?”

It was Colin.

“How come you haven’t been returning my calls? What’s going on? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. Phone me, otherwise I’m getting on a plane to L.A. to find out what’s wrong!”

He didn’t bang down the receiver, but she sensed he’d wanted to. She couldn’t deal with him right now and clicked to the next two messages from some actress friends of hers. After listening to their various plights, she punched in her sister’s phone number.

There was a nine hour time difference between Hollywood, California, and Turin, Italy. It would be quarter to ten at night there. She doubted her sister was in bed yet…unless their baby Anna was being good and Nicco wanted some private time with his wife. He always wanted to be alone with her.

Ann had never seen a couple more in love.

Since her return from witnessing the christening of their adorable daughter a month ago, Ann had been experiencing a vague dissatisfaction with her own life.

The kinds of scripts D.L. had told her to look over only added to the strange emptiness building inside of her. She was almost frightened by the feeling because it reminded her of the way she’d felt after her father had died years ago.

She closed her eyes tightly. D.L. was right. She had changed in recent months. She’d been restless and out of sorts. Unable to focus.

In truth she longed for the comfort of precious Anna in her arms. The first time that tiny bundle of wiggling warmth cuddled up against her body, Ann’s heart had melted. It had been a wrench to leave her niece when it came time to return to L.A.

Colin had attended the christening service with her. Afterward he’d accused her of caring more for the baby than she did for him.

“Ann?” her sister cried out excitedly after picking up on the fourth ring. “Nicco and I were just talking about you! We’ve been waiting to hear if you’re contracted to do a new film yet.”

Ann bit her lip. “Not yet…Callie? H-how would you like a babysitter for a couple of weeks so you and Nicco could go on a trip?” she stammered. “I know you could both use some time alone together. I promise to love her like my own and guard her with my life.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Until Anna’s quite a bit older we couldn’t bear to leave her for that long, but you don’t have to be her babysitter to visit us!” Her sister sounded hurt. Callie always did have a heart of gold.

“As we told you before, there’s a whole suite in the palace that will always be your home when you come. You can live here forever if you want. There’s nothing I’d love more. You’re the only family I’ve got, you know,” she said in a quiet voice.

Ann did know. That’s what was wrong. Callie was her only family and they were separated by an ocean. Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t intend to live with you, but I’m between scripts at the moment and—”

“And things aren’t working out with you and Colin,” her sister read between the lines.

Being identical twins made the two of them telepathic.

“Listen to me Annabelle Lassiter—you’re getting on the next plane to Turin. Little Anna misses you terribly. We all do.”

“As soon as I get off the phone I’ll make reservations.” She gripped the receiver tighter. “Are you sure Nicco won’t mind? He must feel so stressed with all the responsibility now that Luca Danelli has passed away. The last thing he needs is another worry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. From the beginning he’s been doing Luca’s work along with his own. His death was very sad, but he was getting on, it was expected.

“Nicco’s the one who told you you’d always have a permanent home with us. My husband never says something he doesn’t mean.”

“That’s because he’s so in love with you, he wouldn’t do anything to upset you if he could help it.”

“That’s true,” Nicco’s rich male voice spoke into the phone, surprising Ann. “But there’s another reason and you know what it is. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have never met Callie.

“Because of you I’ve found my happiness. I love you, Ann. We both do. Let us know the number and time of your flight and we’ll be there to pick you up.”

By now the tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I love you both, too. Thank you, Nicco. See you soon.”

The sights and smells of any carnival grounds brought back so many vivid memories of Riley’s childhood, he had difficulty believing he hadn’t been swept back in time.

Before he’d left L.A., Riley had made a phone call to determine the exact location of Rimini’s Traveling Circus. When he’d found out it was performing in Rome for the latter half of September, he’d booked his flight there.

That part was easy. The hard part was tracking down Mitra.

The circus Riley’s father had performed in for close to fifteen years was under new management. Though a few of the old troop members were still working, no one seemed to know what had happened to the Gypsy woman who’d once traveled with them and had read tea leaves for the crowds.

But Mitra had done a lot more than that. She’d been a surrogate mother to Riley though he hadn’t recognized it at the time.

With a few more questions, Riley found out another Gypsy with a bear act had been added to the circus repertoire. He walked to the older man’s trailer, speaking to him in the Romany tongue he’d picked up from Mitra. That broke the ice.

He learned she’d left the circus a year ago to join her own people in Perugia, north of Rome. The Gypsy had no idea if she was still alive.

After thanking him for the information, Riley left for the charming hill town overlooking the Tiber where he’d received his first formal schooling. It had all been thanks to Mitra who knew his father had been drinking heavily again after his third wife left him.

Though Mitra shied away from schooling, she’d said Riley was a Gadja, an outsider, and Gadjas belonged in the classroom.

Now he understood why she’d suggested that particular town. Years before her Gypsy heritage had brought her ancestors to the old Etruscan settlement that had become Perugia. The people who’d housed and fed Riley during those years his father struggled had been Mitra’s extended family.

At first he’d fought his schooling and had gotten into serious trouble on several occasions. But with hindsight he realized she’d done him an enormous favor. He’d learned history and math, and of course how to speak fluent Italian.

None of that could have been accomplished without money which Riley’s father didn’t have. That meant someone else had to have put up the funds, probably at great personal sacrifice. Only one person would have cared enough about Riley to do that.

Once he’d revisited his old haunts, one of the men he remembered recognized him and gave him directions to her apartment. Thankful she was still alive, he hurried to her door and knocked. A deep voice called out in Romany, “Who’s there?”

He answered back in kind. “Your Gadja child!”

In a moment Mitra opened the door. She was a medium sized woman in her late seventies now. She wore a familiar looking purple scarf around her hair which was turning white, but her black eyes were as alert as ever. They studied him with the same intensity that used to make him feel guilty if he’d done something wrong.

“You—” she whispered as if she’d seen a ghost.

He smiled. “You remember.” He handed her a bouquet of lavender flowers he’d bought at a stall near the bottom of the hill.

She clutched them to her bosom. “Who could forget such a beautiful face? Now you are a beautiful man.”

With her free hand she touched his cheek where the skin had been grafted. “I saw you in the tea leaves. I saw fire. Life has been hard for you.”

“My father died last year.”

She nodded, “I know. Come in.”

Though modest, her place appeared comfortable. She’d decorated the living room in the same vivid purple color he recalled seeing in her tsara.

“Sit down.”

Riley complied while she put the flowers in a vase on her small dining table. Then she sank into the black hand-painted rocking chair he’d admired as a youngster. “How is it you have come to call on an old woman after all this time?”

“I meant to visit you long before now, but circumstances made it impossible.”

“Life with your father has taken its toll on you.”

“Let’s not talk about me. You look well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You always were a good liar. You see the picture of us there? I felt good then.”

Riley glanced at the framed photograph propped on the end table. The two of them had sat on a bench inside a doorless closet hooked up with a camera that took their picture at the carnival. He’d been six years old. She’d had black hair. A lump lodged in his throat to think she’d kept that photo all this time.

“I took care of you from the age of two until seventeen when your father left the circus and dragged you away. He should have left you with me.”

With that statement he realized what a wrench that must have been for Mitra who’d never married or had children of her own.

“My father needed me too much and was jealous of my relationship with you. But even if he took me thousands of miles away, I always missed you. Did you get the postcards I sent you through the circus?”

She motioned to a black lacquered basket sitting on a bookshelf. He walked over to it and looked inside. It appeared she’d kept all of them.

Pleased to know she’d received them he said, “Why didn’t you get one of your family members to help you write back? I always left an address where you could reach me.”

“I didn’t want to give your father any more reasons to make your life miserable.”

Mitra had understood everything.

“When he didn’t drink, he was all right.”

“You deserved better,” she muttered.

Riley took a deep breath before reaching in his pocket for an envelope. Enclosed was Italian lire amounting to five thousand dollars. Anything more and he knew she wouldn’t accept it. He put it on the table next to the picture.

“What is that?”

He stared into her eyes. “I know what you did. No amount of money in the world could compensate for the mother’s love you gave to me. This represents a small token of my affection for you.”

Like Sister Francesca, she turned her head to hide her emotions. Whether disciplined saint or stoic Gypsy, both were women with hearts bigger than their bodies. Riley had been the lucky recipient.

“You once told me that if you could have your wish, you would buy fresh lavender flowers for your tsara every day. This apartment isn’t the exciting Gypsy wagon I used to play in. It needs flowers. Now you can buy all you want.”

After an extended silence she fastened haunted eyes on him. “You are in a great hurry, rushing down a path even more dangerous than the one before.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Did you read death in the tea leaves for me, too?”

Her expression grew fierce. She made a fist and pounded her breast. “Without a woman in your life, you’re already dead here.”

“There’ve been plenty of women.”

A guttural sound came from her throat. “You think I don’t know that? But they’re always the wrong kind for my Gadja!”

“There was one exception,” he drawled. “But it turns out she didn’t want me.”

“You mean she had too much respect for herself to fight a duel over you like those two she-cats? Good for her!”

“You have to admit that duel was really something.” He grinned.

“Go ahead and laugh, but remember it was I who had to get you out of that filthy prison after the police carted the three of you off.”

“I could always depend on you, Mitra. You know what the problem was? You were too old for me to marry,” he teased her the way he’d done Sister Francesca.

She pushed her hand away as if to say, enough! “I have lived too long to find out you are still tormented. Go—”

Mitra always meant what she said. Nothing about her had changed except that she was twelve years older than the last time he’d seen her. He rose to his feet. “I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back.”

“Do not come again unless you bring me news I want to hear.”

His expression sobered. “Unfortunately that’s the one wish I can’t promise to grant you.”

CHAPTER TWO

SINCE Ann’s last visit to Turin, a new sign in Italian spanned the two posts of the gate leading into the wooded property where Callie lived with her husband and worked.

Valentino Animal And Bird Preserve.

Lower down on one of the posts was another sign printed in Italian, English, French, German and Spanish.

This preserve is open and free to the public 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., Monday through Saturday. Stay on the indicated paths. Do not touch or feed the wildlife.

Please bring any homeless animals or birds who are sick or injured to the hospital by following the arrows. The hospital is open twenty-four hours.

After Ann had flown in from Los Angeles last evening, she’d gone straight to bed with a migraine. She always got one on a long plane ride. But this afternoon she was feeling much better and decided to take two-and-half-month-old Anna for a walk in her stroller before she got hungry for her next bottle.

To Ann’s amusement, Chloe, her sister’s pug, and Valentino, Nicco’s boxer, decided to join her.

The four of them had started out along a private footpath at the rear of the small Baroque palace which eventually led through a security gate to the street. From there they circled partway round the property until she came to the public entrance to the preserve.

Following the arrows she headed for the eighteenth century hunting lodge located on the former royal estate. It had been converted to a hospital and stables. Callie did the main of her veterinarian work there.

When any animals or birds were dropped off with special nursing needs, she took them to the west wing of the palace. Nicco had remodeled several of the rooms into a kennel to board the sick or injured wildlife during their convalescence.

If the animal or bird could be saved, Callie brought them back to health. Then they were freed to live in the huge preserve with its giant trees, greenery and small fresh water lakes donated to the public by Nicco’s younger brother Enzo, the ruling prince of the House of Tescotti.

Though Ann’s agent had given her a hard time about her former willingness to do anything to get noticed by a talent scout, she wasn’t sorry she’d entered for the Who Wants to Marry a Prince? benefit.

In begging Callie to take Ann’s place at the last second because of an emergency, her sister had ended up married to the elder Tescotti prince who’d renounced his title so he could lead a normal life. Callie and Nicco were now a divinely happy working couple with a precious daughter and two pets they doted on.

Ann wanted that same kind of happiness. After being around them again last night, she realized she needed to end it with Colin. He had many wonderful qualities, but the fire simply wasn’t there. To go on seeing him would be cruel. For both their sakes it was time to end it.

Only one man had ever made her feel she was about to go up in flames, and he’d been able to accomplish that by simply looking at her with those silvery eyes. But he was the kind of man who set every woman’s heart on fire. A rogue she’d instinctively known was not husband material.

She may have made a lot of mistakes in her life, but getting involved with Don Juan incarnate wasn’t one of them, thank heaven!

While she stood there on the path wondering how to tell Colin the truth so it would hurt him the least, Valentino forged ahead. He knew exactly where to find his mistress. Chloe followed wherever Valentino went, prancing like a deer.

“Come on, Anna. We’re going to have to hurry to catch up with them.”

Halfway to the lodge she saw a dark head peer around the trunk of a massive chestnut tree. It was a boy of olive complexion and curly black hair who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. He was too thin for the worn-out white T-shirt and baggy pants he was wearing. His solemn black eyes swallowed up his piquant face.

Intrigued, she called out “Buon Giorno!” in her best Italian. Ever since her sister’s marriage, she’d been studying the beautiful language on the side. If Callie was already speaking it fluently, so could she in time.

Her greeting must have frightened him because he disappeared behind the tree without saying anything. He was supposed to stay on the path. No doubt he’d come to the preserve without supervision. Taking it upon herself to investigate, she let go of the stroller.

Before she could reach him, he darted off in another direction, making it impossible for her to catch up to him. As she turned on her heel to get back to Anna, she saw a small black basket with a lid at the base of the tree. It wasn’t like any workmanship she’d ever seen.

Curious, she picked it up and lifted the lid to see inside. As far as she could tell it was a baby squirrel, but it lay so still she had no idea if it was alive or not.

Had the boy come on his own to the preserve hoping for someone to help save it?

She looked all around for any sign of him. Except for the sound of birdsong and insects whirring about, nothing moved.

Tucking the basket under her arm, she walked over to the stroller and continued pushing it to the hospital.

Instead of entering the lodge through the main entrance to the waiting room, she went around to a private side door used by hospital personnel. It opened to an entry way leading into the surgery.

“There you are!” she spoke to the dogs as she opened the door for them to enter. The swinging door to the surgery had a window. She saw Callie over at the sink.

Ann tapped on the glass. When her sister spied her, she came out to the hall with a smile wreathing her face.

“All my favorite people!” She scratched the dogs’ heads and gave her sleeping baby a kiss. Then she lifted her head to look at Ann. “What have you got under your arm?”

With a brief explanation about the boy, she handed her sister the basket. “Obviously he was too shy to come all the way to the hospital. I hope it’s not too late for the squirrel.”

“I’ll check it right now.”

“While you do that, I’ll take everyone home and start dinner. You did say there was chicken in the fridge.”

“Yes. Nicco loves it roasted with carrots and potatoes.”

“Mom’s old recipe?”

Callie nodded.

“That’ll be a cinch.”

“Put Anna in the swing so she can watch you. I should be home in time to feed her.”

“Okay. Let’s go everybody.”

After leaving the lodge, she pushed the stroller back to the palace. The dogs raced on ahead, reminding her of horses who knew where the stable was and couldn’t wait any longer for their oats and water.

Almost to the steps of the west wing, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Something told her the boy had been following them, which meant he’d seen her drop off the basket at the hospital.

She felt a little tug at her heart. The squirrel couldn’t be his pet because it was still a newborn. No doubt he had visions of raising it until it was full grown and would follow him around.

Through Callie, Ann had learned that people developed attachments to all kinds of undomesticated animals like iguanas and wombats. A squirrel didn’t sound nearly so strange, especially if a boy’s playground was the woods.

Growing up in farm country, Ann and Callie had been enamored of everything from baby chicks and calves to new foals. But if something went wrong with one of them, it was Callie who always wanted to doctor them.

Ann was a little squeamish in that department. One of her favorite pursuits was to spend time in her bedroom with their family dog. It was there she made up little plays she performed in front of him. He had to be a better audience than any human as he sat there watching and listening in adoration while his tail moved back and forth on the floor.

Good old Jasper. First he’d died, then their dad, then their mom. The home she and her sister had once known and cherished was gone.

With a heavy sigh she hurried inside with the dogs to take care of Anna and start dinner, very much aware that this was Callie’s home, Callie’s and Nicco’s. Ann needed to make one of her own.

The problem was, you needed the right ingredients to come together at the right time and place.

So far that hadn’t happened. Maybe it never would…

Getting closer to thirty every day with no man in her life she wanted to be the father of her children, plus a short-lived acting career in serious jeopardy, Ann realized she needed to do something about her situation.

If she were careful, she could live three more years on the money she’d made from her last picture. That would give her time to start looking for a job. Maybe she could teach. Might as well put her English degree and acting experience to some use.

Tomorrow morning she’d get up early and put out some feelers over the Internet in Callie’s office.

On the outskirts of Turin, Riley found a compound of buildings that had to be the Danelli manufacturing plant. However until he saw the name in small letters on the glass door of the main structure, he would never have guessed he’d come to the right place.

Everything was locked up and the parking lot looked deserted. That didn’t surprise him. It was ten after five in the evening. He’d tried to get here sooner, but after his flight from Rome there’d been a long delay picking up his rental car. The only thing to do was find a hotel for the night and return in the morning.

He walked back to the car and drove around the complex hoping to spot a worker or night watchman who could tell him when the best time would be to speak to the owner.

Luca Danelli wasn’t listed in the telephone directory. All Riley could find was the name of the company and a phone number that reached a recording with only one option: leave a message and someone would return the call as soon as possible.

For what Riley had in mind, he needed the right live body. Nothing else would do.

Disappointed because no one was about, he whipped around the other end of the complex to leave the cluster of buildings the way he’d come in. That’s when he caught a glint of red in the periphery and stood on his brakes.

A tall, well-honed male in a black helmet, gloves and leather jacket was just pushing a motorcycle out of a door marked private in Italian. Riley’s eyes fastened on the fire-engine-red bike. It was an NT-1, the pro racing model that was blowing all the competition out of the water according to the article in the magazine Bart had given him.

Riley shut off the motor, grabbed the copy of International Motorcycle World lying on the seat next to him and levered himself from the car.

The man in the helmet had seen him. He raised his shield. As Riley approached him, he was met by a pair of penetrating black eyes that studied him with guarded interest.

“The plant is closed. What can I do for you, signore?”

His Italian, as well as his whole demeanor, spoke of an aristocratic background, especially the way he’d phrased the question in civil tones to couch his demand. Riley was immediately intrigued.

Whoever this man was, he gave off an aura of someone so sure of himself, nothing fazed him. In an instant Riley realized he’d never met anyone like him. Instinct also told him something else. This was a person who welcomed a dangerous situation and would always come out the winner.

“My name is Riley Garrow,” he answered in fluent Italian. “I’ve just flown in from the States to see Signore Danelli about a job. I came directly from the airport hoping he’d still be at work.”

After a brief pause, “I’m afraid that’s impossible now. The Danelli family buried him a week ago.” The pathos in his voice revealed the two men had been close.

Riley’s spirits sank like lead. “I had no idea. There was nothing about it in the news.”

“The family has asked the press to hold the story until his only son who was injured in a serious small plane accident recovers enough to be told the truth.”

“I’m sorry for them, and sorry for me,” Riley murmured. “For years I’ve wanted to meet the man whose genius built the Danelli-Strada bike. My father taught me how to ride on a Danelli. Before he died, he refused to ride anything else and cursed the day the company went out of business.”

He held up the magazine. “When I read Signore Danelli had started manufacturing bikes in Turin instead of Milan, I got on the next plane out of L.A.”

The other man eyed him speculatively. “Who was your father?”

“You wouldn’t know him. His name was Rocky Garrow.”

“Rocky…” he muttered, “as in The Human Rocket?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Riley blinked in surprise.

“Of course. I thought your last name sounded familiar. As far as I’m concerned, he was the star of the Rimini Traveling Circus that came through Turin every spring. When I was a boy I couldn’t wait to watch him do his motorcycle stunts over all those barrels. He looked exactly like a rocket in that shiny silver suit he wore!”

Riley smiled sadly. He’d given that suit and the other costumes to Bart who’d put them in storage for safekeeping. “When I got old enough to realize he wasn’t immortal, I’m afraid I didn’t want to watch.” There were a lot of things he hadn’t wanted to watch…

“I can understand that,” he answered in a low, quiet voice. “I remember reading about his death doing a stunt over Iguasu Falls in Brazil last year. I’m sorry for your loss. He was part of the reason I fell in love with motorcycles in the first place.”

Upon that admission Riley felt an intangible bond with the man.

He could scarcely believe this person had seen his father perform. He looked to be in his thirties, only a few years older than Riley. How strange to think of him as a boy in the audience while Riley waited anxiously behind the tent flap for his father to survive another jump.

“It was his time to go. He died on his old Danelli, doing the only thing that made him happy.”

“Would that we could all bow out of this world the same way. It’s a pleasure to meet the son of the man who gave me so many thrills in my youth. My name’s Nicco Tescotti.” He removed his glove so they could shake hands.

Nicco Tescotti?

“According to the magazine article, you’re the CEO. I presume Signore Danelli’s death puts you at the head of the company now. This is a singular honor for me, but not a good time for you with such heavy responsibilities. Forgive the intrusion.”

As he turned to leave he heard, “Do you ride as well as your father did?”

Riley spun around. “Better!”

They both grinned.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“What’s that?” Riley fired back, too full of elation to consider his bodily needs for the moment.

“I prefer to discuss important business over a good meal. If you have no other plans for this evening, why not follow me home where we can relax and talk.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t. My wife loves motorcycles as much as you and I do.”

Riley smiled once more. Maybe he was dreaming. “She sounds remarkable, but she still might not want to be surprised.”

“Half the time she surprises me.”

“How so?”

“She’s a vet. When I get home, more often than not she’s brought a baby something or other from the surgery we have to nurse through the night. And then of course there’s our daughter Anna who’s two and half months old. She’s hungry for her breakfast at the crack of dawn which in turn wakes up the dogs.

“I’m afraid ours is not a conventional marriage.” He got on his bike. “But I love it,” he added with enough emotion for Riley to know Nicco Tescotti was one happy man.

“If we should get separated, ask anyone for directions to the Valentino Animal and Bird Preserve. The security guard at the gate will tell you where to go from there.”

After closing his shield, he started up his bike. Riley chased after him in the rental car.

He recognized a pro racer when he saw one.

Though they might not be on the track, Nicco Tescotti rode with the kind of flawless precision and technique only a handful of the world’s top racers demonstrated.

Riley tried to figure the odds of running into the new head of the Danelli company, let alone being invited to his home for a job interview. They had to be in the billion to one category.

“Keep saying those prayers, Sister,” he whispered to the air as he stayed on the other man’s tail.

Their journey followed the river back to the city. They’d been passing several miles of woods and verdant parkland when Nicco slowed down and signaled before making a right turn into a private driveway with a security guard at the gate.

Riley did the same. The guard nodded him on through.

Once past the thick hedge, he marveled at the cathedral-like atmosphere of trees and shrubbery as the path wound its way deeper and deeper into the greenery. But he didn’t know real surprise until he glimpsed a small Baroque palace beyond the dense foliage.

Nicco came to a stop at the entrance to the west wing where several other cars were parked. He climbed off his motorcycle.

Riley blinked. He lived here?

As he got out of the rental car, two dogs came racing out to greet their master. One was a fawn-colored boxer with white feet who jumped up on Nicco’s leg. The other was a toy pug. It stayed at a distance and barked with ferocity until Nicco removed his helmet to reveal hair as black as Riley’s. Then the pug leaped toward him.

Laughter rumbled out of Riley. Nicco’s chuckles joined his as he scratched the ears of both dogs. Riley moved closer.

“This big boy here is Valentino. Put your hand out and he’ll give you five.”

Riley got down on his haunches and did as Nicco suggested. The boxer was almost human the way he hit his paw against Riley’s hand. More laughter ensued from both men.

The pug proceeded to run laps around Riley.

“Chloe, on the other hand, is a complicated lady who hates my helmet and doesn’t trust strangers. Give her time and she might allow you to rub her head, but don’t hold your breath.”

After she’d run out of steam, she sat there panting. Riley had made pets of several stray dogs in his youth. On impulse he put his hand on the ground and started walking it slowly toward the pug with his fingers.

The dog made a strange cry in her throat, then got down on her belly and shimmied toward his hand. Riley kept it going until the pug’s flat nose came up against his fingers. She butted at him several times, then turned over on her back in invitation.

Triumphant, Riley began rubbing her belly. He noticed she was missing a toe from each front paw.

“The man with the velvet touch,” Nicco murmured in awe. “Chloe’s my wife’s dog. She should be out here to witness this.”

“I just did, and still can’t believe it,” a female voice answered in a tone of wonder.

Riley lifted his head, but he received the shock of his life when he found himself staring into the fabulous green eyes of the only woman in the world who’d ever turned him down flat for a date. Her rejection, delivered without the slightest hesitation, explanation or apology, had been a wound to his pride he’d never forgotten.

Annabelle Lassiter as he lived and breathed!

Less than a year ago she’d been the gorgeous American blonde on the set of the latest Cory Sieverts film, a big Hollywood box office hit. At the time there’d been no talk about her being married.

What in the hell was going on?

Nicco had said his wife was a veterinarian who loved motorcycles. They had a daughter Anna who was almost three months old. That meant she’d been pregnant when she’d cut Riley to the quick in front of the film crew.

The unpleasant experience still had the power to twist his gut if he allowed himself to think about it.

Had she become a vet before she’d ventured into acting?

How and where had she met Nicco Tescotti of all people? A man with whom Riley already felt a rare camaraderie.

Why were they living on this palatial estate?

Reeling from a tumult of conflicting emotions, not to mention unanswered questions, he rose to his feet.

“Riley Garrow? I’d like to introduce you to my wi—”

“We’ve already met,” he broke in before the other man could finish.

“We have?” Her expression looked totally puzzled as she clung to her husband.

A wave of anger swept through him.

She was pretending not to remember that incident at the studio, but he knew better. There’d been an attraction between them, a strong chemistry unlike anything he’d felt before. She’d felt it, too. It was something you couldn’t hide, but she hadn’t acted on her feelings.

If it hadn’t been for the explosion on another set that had sent him to the hospital, he would have found a way to meet her again and break her down.

At the time he’d assumed she’d reacted as she’d done because the force of her feelings had frightened her. If they’d been anything like his, he could understand. She’d shaken his world, too.

If she was carrying Nicco’s child, then it explained why she was so damn scared. Why in the hell hadn’t she just come out and told him she was living with a man, or was secretly married?

This was a day full of shocks, both good and bad. Right now her acting ability was in full evidence. She even spoke passable Italian. No doubt she was praying he would let go of his determination to force a confrontation.

Out of deference to her husband, Riley decided to play along until the moment when he could get her alone to deliver a few home truths.

“If you don’t recognize me, then I guess I’m mistaken. With that braid, you reminded me of someone I once met.”

She hadn’t been wearing her hair in a braid on the set. It had been arranged long and loose, like one of those cascading waterfalls in Brazil that caught the sunlight, robbing him of breath.

Nicco’s eyes held a mysterious gleam. “Could you possibly be thinking of the woman on the cover of International Motorcycle World?”

At the question, something clicked in Riley’s head.

His gaze darted from the other man to Annabelle. “Of course—the mad vet from Prunedale!”

“That’s my wife.” Nicco kissed her neck.

“Up to my knees in mud.” She blushed in her husband’s arms. “I’m never going to live that picture down.”

“It hooked me,” he said purposely in English because he wanted to jolt her.

Her eyes rounded, giving him the reaction he’d hoped for. “You’re an American! I thought you were a hundred percent Italian like Nicco.”

She spoke English now, playing the innocent to the hilt.

Nicco squeezed her. “Like you, my love, Riley’s a man of many talents. He even has the distinction of winning over Chloe on a first encounter. I think I’m jealous.”

“Dr. Wood won’t believe it when I tell him.”

“Dr. Wood?” Riley drawled.

She smiled. “He’s the vet in Prunedale who hired me out of medical school. He was the only person besides me Chloe would allow to touch her.”

“What about your husband?”

Nicco shook his head. “Let’s just say she was territorial about letting me sleep with my bride. It took her a week before she’d deign for me to stroke the back of her neck. I think it was a month before she rolled over so I could rub her belly.”

His black eyes flashed. “If your secrets translate to the track, Riley, I’m already feeling sorry for the other poor devils when you start to make your moves.”

“So you race?” she cried out with excitement.

She was good at dissembling. The best he’d ever seen.

“Never as a pro like your husband.”

“Why don’t we finish this conversation inside?” Nicco murmured against her cheek. “I don’t know about our guest, but I’m starving.”

“While you show Mr. Garrow where to freshen up, I’ll check to make certain Anna’s asleep, then meet you in the dining room.” She slipped away from Nicco and hurried inside with the dogs at her heels.

No doubt she was relieved to escape before she gave anything away. He couldn’t fault her for trying to make a go of her marriage.

Why out of all the many beautiful, exciting, exotic women he’d known in his life did he have to be hung up on the one female forbidden to him from the beginning?

Though he was no saint, he’d made it a rule never to become involved with a married woman. Little did Riley know another man had already claimed her when he’d met her on the set.

He supposed he should be admiring rather than angry of her devotion to her husband when Riley knew in his gut she’d once been as attracted to Riley as he’d been to her.

Riley was privy to a secret all right, one she didn’t want Nicco to know about.

Back then the head of the Danelli empire hadn’t won his bride’s heart and soul yet, otherwise those green eyes wouldn’t have come alive with desire for Riley when they’d first looked at each other.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known this day was too good to be true.

You are in a great hurry, rushing down a path even more dangerous than the one before.

Riley liked Nicco. He sensed this was the kind of man he would want for a true friend. But under the circumstances, it wasn’t going to work. The wisest course would be to heed Mitra’s warning, excuse himself on some pretext and leave the country tonight.

“Shall we go in?” Nicco prompted him after parking his bike near the bushes. “Earlier in the day my wife told me Ann was making our dinner tonight. Between you and me she’s not as good a cook as Callie, but she’s a lot better than she used to be and she’s trying hard to learn Italian. Be patient with her when she makes the effort.”

Riley blinked. “Who’s Callie?”

“My wife.”

He was totally confused. “Then who’s Ann?”

“My wife’s twin sister. She flew in from the States last night for a visit.”

CHAPTER THREE

ANN swept through the door connecting the kitchen to the small dining room of the palace carrying a hot platter.

“I’m glad you’re home, Nicco. This chicken has been done for quite a while and—”

She suddenly stopped talking because she discovered her brother-in-law wasn’t alone.

As far as Ann was concerned, her sister had married an Italian Adonis. There’d only been one man Ann had ever met whom she’d thought was better looking. To her shock that man was standing there in the flesh next to Nicco dressed in a stunning tan suit with shirt and tie.

The platter literally slipped from her hands to make a thud on the table. “You—” she blurted when she could finally say something.

His sensuous mouth curved into a cruel half smile of acknowledgment. Her heart might as well have been a gong going off in the background.

Gorgeous, hunky, devilishly dark and handsome with silver eyes… No matter how many adjectives came to mind, none of them adequately described Riley Garrow. Inside that powerful male body he possessed a virile essence. It could swallow you alive just by looking at him.

No woman was immune from his intangible charisma.

Lover today, gone tomorrow.

That was his reputation. It preceded him wherever he went as Hollywood’s most sought after stuntman.

Oh, yes. She’d heard all about him long before he’d stepped foot on the set of her last movie. He was star material. Loaded.

No one could understand why he preferred to double for the hero in a dangerous scene rather than be the hero himself. No leading man had his matchless drawing power for women, his instincts for survival or his polish.

It was like some incredible dream to see him here inside the Tescotti palace of all places.

Worse, she felt irrational anger to discover he was even more attractive than she’d remembered. The line of his right eye tilted a trifle at the outer corner. When he stared at Ann through his heavily lashed lids, she felt seduced by his gaze and went hot all over.

What was it about men like Nicco and Riley who deliberately put their lives in mortal danger? How come they were better looking and more exciting than the average male? They might as well be a delectable poison.

Though she’d been tempted at the time, the rational part of her had been wise enough to turn him down for dinner after they were through shooting for the day. But her delight in thwarting him hadn’t lasted long because he never came near her again. He never called. So much for a true interest in her on his part.

Once again she was thankful she’d spared herself the grief of spending an evening with him, only to find out he had plans with another woman the next night. And the night after that, ad infinitum.

No thank you.

She felt Nicco’s speculative gaze. “It seems introductions aren’t necessary.”

“Not when it comes to the human cannon ball,” she mocked, feeling flushed and totally out of control.

Riley shifted his weight as if welcoming her aggression. “You’re referring to my father. He was the one billed ‘The Human Rocket.’”

Still so smooth and unflappable, as if nothing could disturb him. Damn him for that cloak of sophistication he wore like an invisible mantel, setting him apart from ordinary men.

Nicco wasn’t the only person to radiate a daunting indifference on occasion without being aware of it. Riley Garrow moved through life and women as if he were a prince of royal blood. The divine right of kings was alive and doing well inside him, title or not.

She wanted no part of him and sat down before either man could help her. “Shall we eat?” she suggested. “Anna was fussing, so it might be a while before Callie joins us.”

Riley sat next to Nicco at one end of the table. She sat at the other end and began eating her salad while they helped themselves to the main course.

The stove in the kitchen heated differently than the one at her condo. Everything cooked faster here. She feared her roast chicken dinner was overdone. When Nicco passed her the food, one taste of the dry potatoes and she knew her meal was a fiasco.

To both men’s credit they pretended to enjoy everything, but their guest overplayed his hand when he complimented her several times on the tasty chicken. To be patronized by Riley Garrow was the last straw.

At one point she happened to lift her head and met Nicco’s puzzled glance.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear about Riley’s famous father. Around the same time Callie and I were married, he was killed doing a stunt at Iguasu Falls in Brazil.”

Ann averted her eyes. She didn’t know that.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Callie and I lost our father years ago, but it’s still hard.” There were still times when she missed him horribly.

Riley wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “It’s an inevitable fact of life we all learn to deal with one way or the other.”

Growing more uncomfortable by the minute she said, “Are you planning to succeed him?”

Before he could answer, Callie entered the dining room and sat down at Nicco’s other side. The dogs circled the table hoping someone would feed them.

“Forgive me for taking so long. Anna didn’t want to settle down. She must know there’s a guest in the house.” Callie filled her plate. “This looks delicious, Ann.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, aware of Riley’s unsettling gaze every time she happened to look up.

Nicco put a hand on his wife’s arm. “I was about to tell your sister Riley has left his stunt work behind and is going to race for Danelli.”

With her natural enthusiasm for the sport she loved, Callie said something about it being wonderful, but Ann’s fork dropped on her plate. She stared pointedly at Riley.

“Out of the frying pan into the fire. Isn’t that how the old saying goes? Except in your case I guess that doesn’t apply since it appears you survived that, too. If you’ve had a death wish, it hasn’t happened yet. Lucky you.”

He didn’t move, but his gray eyes turned molten as they held hers over the top of his wineglass.

“Ann—” her sister admonished in a loud enough whisper for everyone to hear.

Her head reared back. “Don’t worry, Callie. Mr. Garrow knows what I mean. After he did the scenes for the film I was in, he was caught in an explosion on another set doubling as a firefighter and ended up in the hospital for smoke inhalation. All part of a day’s work.”

“That’s horrible!” Callie cried. She shot Ann a withering glance before giving their guest her attention. “How long did they have to hold up the filming for you to recover?”

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