Picnick day

A glance outside told her it was the perfect day for going for a drive and then maybe even a hike. The sky was a crystal-clear blue with floating puffs of white clouds. The temperature had dropped overnight and promised to stay lower throughout the day. And there were no reunion events until the picnic at midday.

But before she could make her escape, she bumped straight into her parents, lingering over Sunday breakfast in the kitchen. They regarded her with surprise, no doubt because they so rarely saw her before noon.

“What on earth are you doing up so early, darling?” her mother asked. “You had a late night. It was after midnight when I heard you come in. How was the dance?”

Cara thought of the time she’d spent in Rafe’s arms. For a man who’d professed to have no skill on the dance floor at all, he’d been astonishingly adept at everything from the waltz to the twist. Apparently it was only the Texas two- step that eluded him, despite his pitiful claim that he’d had no time for dances as a younger man. When she’d called him on it, he’d simply shrugged and insisted he was only following her lead.

As if, she thought dryly. She doubted he’d ever let anyone get a head start on him, much less lead him anywhere. She sighed at that. It was something she needed to keep in mind.

“The dance was fine,” she said.

“Meet anyone interesting?” her mother asked, her expression just a little too

innocent.

“What have you heard?” Cara asked, regarding her with resignation.

Her father frowned. “Yes, Jane, what have you heard? I’d like to know, too.” “Oh, for goodness sakes, it’s nothing shocking,” her mother said with a hint

of exasperation. “Rose Ellen just happened to mention that Cara was with an incredibly handsome man at the rodeo yesterday afternoon.”

George Petrillo seemed no more convinced by that innocuous explanation than Cara was.

“And?” he prodded.

“The man kissed me,” Cara blurted, hoping to save them all the embarrassment of a long, drawn-out debate. “It was nothing.”

Her mother grinned. “That’s not the way I heard it. Rose Ellen said it made her toes curl.”

“Jane Petrillo, I hope you weren’t discussing your daughter’s lack of discretion with half the town,” her father said, his expression dismayed. As the owner of the local insurance company, he tended to worry first about what his customers might think. Cara had done enough outrageous, risky things with the Calamity Janes in high school to turn his hair gray. He always swore he’d taken out extra accident and liability insurance on the family just because of her dangerous shenanigans.

“No, of course not,” Jane said, giving him a soothing pat on the hand. “Just Rose Ellen. She brought it up. I must say I found it fascinating.” She turned to Cara. “I had no idea you’d brought a fellow home for the reunion. Why haven’t we met him?”

“I didn’t bring him. He’s not here for the reunion. And you haven’t met him because I sincerely wish that I’d never met him,” Cara said, reaching for the car keys, even though the drive no longer held much appeal. “I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, but I won’t be long.”

She walked out before they could pester her with more questions. As she paused on the back steps to take a deep, calming breath, she heard her mother ask, “What do you suppose is going on?”

“I have no idea,” her father said grumpily. “But I’m sure half the town will know about it before we do. That’s what comes from letting her go off and spend all that time in Europe. She’s come home with a lot of wild ideas.”

“Oh, she has not,” her mother said, then added wistfully, “I just hope there is something more to this. Wouldn’t it be nice to see her married? I can’t wait till we have a houseful of grandchildren to spoil.”

Cara’s groan was almost as heartfelt as her father’s. The speculation about

her and Rafe O’Donnell was getting entirely out of hand and he’d only been in town a couple of days. Right now all he was doing was shadowing her—okay, and kissing her in public. Just wait till people around here found out what he was really after.

Rafe drove by the Petrillo house about 7:45 a.m. There was no sign of Cara, though from what he’d gathered, she was not exactly a morning person. Still, he found the fact that her mother’s car was missing this early on a Sunday vaguely worrisome. Had Cara taken off in it? Would her mother conspire to help her daughter skip town? Leave the country? Maybe that remark Cara had made the day before about fleeing to Canada had been no joke.

Because he hated the way his imaCaration was running wild, he concluded the best way to get to the truth would be to knock on the door and ask to see her. For all he knew, the entire family might be at church, though most had services that began later.

When a woman he assumed to be Mrs. Petrillo answered the door, he understood where Cara got her beauty. Her mother was probably in her late forties, maybe even her early fifties, but she looked a decade younger. There wasn’t a single strand of gray in her thick, dark hair. There was hardly a wrinkle on her heart-shaped face. But while her daughter’s eyes were dark, Mrs.

Petrillo’s were a vibrant green, and they were studying him with undisguised curiosity.

“May I help you?” she asked, when Rafe remained speechless.

He gathered his composure. “Actually, I’m looking for your daughter, Mrs.

Petrillo. Is she here?”

“Ah,” she said, her expression brightening. “You must be the mysterious man everyone is talking about.”

“I’m Rafe O’Donnell,” he said, taken aback by the friendly welcome.

Obviously, the people talking were those who’d witnessed the kiss, and not Cara herself. He doubted she had painted him in a favorable light.

“My husband and I are just having a second cup of coffee, Mr. O’Donnell. Will you join us? Cara left a little while ago, but she shouldn’t be gone long.”

Never one to turn down caffeine or the chance to pump someone for information about Cara, he smiled. “I’d love a cup.”

In the cheerful, yellow kitchen with its warm oak cupboards and white trim, she introduced Rafe to her husband and invited him to make himself at home.

“Were your ears burning?” she asked. “We were talking about you not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Is that so?” he asked warily. “What did Cara have to say?”

“Not much, which is why I’m so glad you dropped by. You’re not local, are you? How do you know our daughter?”

Now there was a minefield, Rafe thought. “Actually, I’m from New York.” “So, you and Cara met there?” George Petrillo asked, regarding Rafe with

suspicion.

“Not exactly.”

The vague response clearly stirred more suspicion on her father’s part. “We don’t get a lot of New Yorkers around here. How did you happen to choose Winding River for a vacation?”

“Actually I’m working.”

George’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not some fool movie producer, are you?

They come crawling around here all the time these days, paying outrageous amounts for property. If it keeps up, the next thing we know we won’t be able to afford to live in our own hometown.”