“I punched the goat.” Dal still remembered that day. He’d been horrified at his display of violence, worried the Cecchino family would think he was like his father.
“You yelled and punched the goat and told him to stay the hell away from me.” Lena kissed his cheek. “My knight in plaid. It was all over for me after that.” She kissed him again.
It was a long, slow kiss. Dal savored every second. It was nice hearing her retell the story.
“Why didn’t you say anything before this?” he asked.
She raised a brow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to disrespect your parents.”
She let out a long sigh. “I know. That’s probably another reason why I love you. Because you loved my parents as much as I did.” She relaxed against him again, returning her head to his chest. “I knew Dad wouldn’t let you stay if we were dating. But I knew you’d eventually move out.” She raised a teasing eyebrow. “You were going to be fair game once you moved out. I had a plan.”
“Did you?” He chuckled and tightened his hold on her. “What was your plan?”
“I was just going to show up at your place all the time. I figured I could bring you Nonna’s leftovers at least three times a week. Then I figured I could probably talk you into helping me with homework at least another two nights. If I got desperate, I figured I’d offer to come help you clean your place. Eventually, I figured you’d ask me to stick around and watch a movie or have a cup of coffee. That’s when I planned to make my move.”
He was loving every second of this conversation. “What was your move?” He was dying to know.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t worked that out. For some reason, making a move seemed way harder than offering to clean your bathroom sink.”
He wrinkled his brow, unsure if she was teasing. “You weren’t really going to offer to clean my future apartment, were you?”
“If that’s what it took to get you to notice me.”
“Shit, I’d have moved out the day I graduated high school if I’d known that.”
Her laugh vibrated all the way through his chest.
“Do you remember that time you spent an entire Sunday afternoon making raviolis?” he asked. “Nonna was sick and you decided it was your job to make dinner for the family.”
“You’re really going to bring up the time I dumped homemade raviolis into boiling water and blew them all up?”
Dal smoothed his hands up and down her back. Her skin was so soft. “I remember thinking you were going to make some guy really happy one day.”
“Because I blew up raviolis?”
“No. Because you loved your family enough to try making a hard meal from scratch when you could have just boiled store-bought noodles and dumped a jar of sauce on it.”
“Dad took us all to McDonald’s that night for dinner. Anton and Leo teased me about that for weeks.”
Dal remembered. They had called her the Italian who couldn’t make Italian.
“My brothers can be real dickheads sometimes.” Her mirth faded. “We should get to the cabin.” She swallowed, giving him a sad smile. “We have to tell them about Dad.”
He sat up and pulled her into his lap. He got one last long kiss, not sure when they’d have a chance to be alone again.
A short while later, they left the house. The sun was just beginning to rise. With the transmitter and the horses, they started the long trek up Pole Mountain.
Chapter 30Homecoming
LEO WAS UP AT DAWN. Worry for Lena, Dal, and his father had gnawed at him all night. He wasn’t surprised to find Nonna already up, bustling around the kitchen.
“Oh good, you’re up. I need you to make me a fire.”
Leo was grateful for something to keep him busy. Leery of spiders, he grabbed a flashlight and went outside to the woodpile. There were black widows and brown recluse in this area. A strong flashlight beam was enough to scare them if any happened to be on the logs he grabbed.
He had just picked up the first log when he heard it: the nicker of a horse.
What the hell? Alarm spiked through him. There sure as hell weren’t horses in these woods. Foxes, yes. Bobcats, yes. Coyotes and mountain lions and raccoons and skunks, yes.
But no horses.
Leo dropped the wood and tore back up the stairs. He snatched up his rifle, flipped over the picnic table, and crouched behind it.
“Leonardo. What’s going on?” Nonna demanded.
“Stay down, Nonna. I heard a horse. Someone’s coming up the road.”
Nonna tensed. He heard her moving behind him. Seconds later, she crouched beside him with her rifle.
“Nonna, get inside.”
She smacked him on the side of the head.
“Ow!”
Nonna glared at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Leonardo. I am head of this household until your father gets back.”
“Sorry.”
She huffed as she rested the barrel of her rifle on the edge of the table. They waited in tense silence, watching the crest of the road. The sky had lightened to a pale gray, increasing their visibility.
A horse nickered again, this time closer. Whoever was out there was almost to the cabin.
“Get ready,” Nonna murmured. “If you see a Soviet, pull the trigger.”
None of this made sense. How could Russians have found the road to Pole Mountain? The road was at such an angle that it couldn’t be seen from the farm. You could only find the entrance if you practically fell over it.
He had a nagging worry they’d been followed from the Craig farm. Setting the truck and the bodies on fire had been a brass move. Maybe a stupid one. To make it all worse, they’d left their name on the destruction. What if the Russians had somehow tied the word sniper to the Cecchino farm?
This wasn’t a stupid football game. Big risks could get them killed. He should have been more
