Night Stalkers: By Break Of Day Part 17

She glanced back at Justin who was either on the verge of running in panic or about to laugh in her face; she couldn't quite tell which. Maybe both. To forestall his escape, she hooked an arm through each man's elbow, as Justin had already shouldered her duffel on top of his, and she turned them for home.

"'Y'all' is a surprisingly useful word." She addressed her father. "English has no voi." Which sounded like a lame excuse even to her.

"'Course English does, little lady." Justin squeezed her hand tighter in the crook of his elbow. "It has a perfectly fine one, and you used it just right. Even if your accent is still all Yankeefied."

Papa gave a snort that was about as close as he ever got to a laugh.

Kara hoped that was a good sign. Unlike with other men she'd brought home, she discovered that she cared whether or not Papa liked this one.

Justin stood on the polished wood of the front entryway and did his best not to drip on the floor. A tropical monsoon's worth of water was running off his and Kara's clothes, forming a widening puddle.

Alfonso Moretti Senior had a grip like a cop...or a farrier who could bend horseshoes without needing his anvil. It was a crus.h.i.+ng handclasp even by Justin's standards. The look in Mr. Moretti's eye said that he had rid Kara of more than few of her male suitors with that grip and a dose of that evil glance.

He smiled and offered a sharp nod when Justin returned as good as he was given.

While he was standing there trying not to drip, the front door slammed into his back.

"s.h.i.+t! It's wetter than a baptism out there." A younger version of Alfonso Senior shoved in the doorway. He was still in uniform right down to his sidearm, billed hat, and jacket with the NYPD emblem on the breast and sleeve. "Hey, Kara. Didn't know you had leave."

He gave her an absent peck on the forehead. "Hey, Papa." He shoved by his father.

Justin wondered if he was somehow invisible.

Then, just as the man stepped through the inner entry, he glanced back at Justin with a look that said, "Oh brother, another one? What this time?" The last of the look rested above Justin's head then he was gone. His father followed him into the house.

Justin had to admit that Kara's a.s.sessment about his cowboy hat being out of place in New York City might be an accurate one, but giving in and removing it now was out of the question.

A second man had slipped in behind the first one-who hadn't introduced himself but must be Rudi. This last one could have been Kara's fraternal twin. He was as short as her, not that any of the Morettis were particularly tall, but Kara and Rudi had clearly inherited their stature from their mother rather than their father.

"Hi, Kar." His voice was also soft and Justin decided that he liked him right away. Rudi gave her a real hug, not an idle peck. They were sweet together. By the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, this was clearly the favorite brother.

"How's my favorite lawyer?" Justin could just overhear her whisper to her brother.

"To avoid incurring liability, I must inform you that I am your favorite law student." It was clearly a thing between them.

Their embrace made Justin miss his sister, actually his whole family. He was half tempted to turn around and find his way back to the airport to go see them. Except he was more likely to see Bessie Anne at some foreign air base than back in Texas; the Air Force kept her on the move.

Unlike his older brother, this younger one inspected Justin carefully when Kara finally let him go. He offered his hand and an honest, if cautious shake along with his name. "Rudi."

Then Justin and Kara were alone once more in the tiny foyer. "Can I stop meeting people now?"

Kara patted his arm. "That should cover you until dinnertime, which will be as soon as Mama and Joe get home from the shop." She grabbed his hand and dragged him through the inner door.

In the pouring rain, he'd only had the slightest impression of the outside of the house. A long city block with a line of four-story houses made of brownstone, just like in the movies. Each had a front yard about as big as a horse stall and a stone stoop of a half-dozen steps from street to porch. More people lived in this block than were ever on the ten thousand acres of the Roberts family ranch. Again the urge to go kicked at him, but he brushed it off.

Inside, they stepped into a living room that wouldn't fill the front hall of his family's ranch house. But it looked cozy with a couple of couches, several armchairs, a low table scattered with magazines, and a TV screen not even two feet across. Of course, in the ranch's rec room, you'd never sit this close to the screen unless you were a young one down on the floor with a coloring book, so you needed something bigger.

Besides there could be a whole pa.s.sel of folks when there was a big televised horse race or a Bowl game. A whole lot more than could fit here. But he'd wager that during a game this room was a cozier, livelier place to be.

He kept looking for the doorway to the next room until he realized there wasn't one to the side. The bay window looked out on the street and the room was the full width of the house.

Close in front of him a narrow set of stairs led upward; beneath it another set led down. To the back he could see Mr. Moretti emerging from what must be the master bedroom wearing a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and jeans. That would be the whole floor. It was a very vertical house.

Kara led him up the stairs.

"Nonna and Al Junior with Marta-that's his wife; she's a singer in a band-live on this floor."

"She...what? You're brother doesn't exactly strike me as the type."

"I know. You'd expect a traditional Italian girl..." She raised her voice and turned her face toward the room she'd indicated.

He came out of his room wearing jeans and an NYPD T-s.h.i.+rt.

"...for the big lummox," she finished without lowering her voice.

"Too bad, Sis. Now you're not the only 'wild one' in the family." He thumped down the stairs and Kara ignored him except for sticking out her tongue at his back. Al Junior flipped his middle finger at her over his shoulder without bothering to look back.

Justin had never flipped someone off in his life. Had stuck his tongue out at his sister more than a few times though.

"She sings this hot, indie rock, makes you want to dance or have s.e.x or both. Has her first tour coming up. Beautiful Irish redhead, so no gawking."

Justin could hear the pride of her sister-in-law in her voice and knew that it would run through the whole family despite the unlikeliness of the match.

"And that's"-Kara pointed at the other end of the hall-"the guest room where Mama will try to put you." She went to lead him up the next flight, but he turned aside. He set her duffel by the stairs and then, exploring along a narrow hallway, he reached a small bedroom with an open door that faced onto the street. The bed had a pretty quilt, but no personal belongings. He set his wet duffel in the corner, careful not to rest it against the wallpaper.

"You are not sleeping here." Kara stood in the doorway, fists on her hips.

"Kara, I-"

"You did not follow me to New York City to sleep in a different room."

He hadn't, but that didn't change things. He took off his hat and set it on the dresser-an old oaken piece of curved wood with an age-faded mirror above it.

Kara glared at it resting there.

Justin stepped over to her and rested his hands on her hips. When she opened her mouth to protest, he simply kissed her. She thudded the side of a frustrated fist against his shoulder, but then clenched his sopping wet T-s.h.i.+rt to keep him in place. There was no denying what was between them no matter where they slept.

"Now go change." He turned her about and gave her a slap on the b.u.t.t to get her moving. Just like a high-spirited horse, she glared back at him, but gathered up her duffel and headed upstairs.

The door across the hall had opened, and a tiny woman, wrinkled and gray-haired, tilted her head sideways to look up at him.

"Looked like quite some kiss, young man."

Justin looked down at her. Kara's maternal grandmother he guessed, based on her features. Nothing to do but brazen it out.

"Your granddaughter is quite some woman, ma'am. Would be a waste not to make it the best kiss I know how."

The woman laughed, her voice light but still strong. "You know how to handle her. Most men, they know nothing. She is a girl of high spirits, but her heart, that she is unsure of. I know mine though. If I were a few generations younger..."

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Not as he'd seen in Italy, those air kisses, but an actual kiss.

She slapped lightly at his chest and then rubbed her fingers together. "You're all wet, bambino. Go change your diapers. I think maybe I will like you."

And then her door closed and Justin was left to drip alone in the hall.

He headed off to find a towel and fresh clothes.

"He is so pretty, Kara." Marta made a sighing sound that Kara's brother had better never hear pa.s.s her lips. He might have married a singer and went to all of her gigs, but her big brother wasn't the most understanding sort. Marta continued to dice onions for the sauce.

"Good manners," Mama noted with a voice that said she certainly hadn't missed how pretty he was. She was unwrapping a Tupperware container of lasagna noodles she had brought home from the shop.

"Justin is-" Kara tried to turn the conversation somewhere, anywhere else.

"One heck of kisser," Nonna put in from her perch on the other side of the counter where she now directed rather than cooked.

They all looked at her, and Kara wondered what form of h.e.l.l she had walked into. "Nonna!"

"Old, bambina. Not blind or stupid. I see how you hang on to him when you kiss. Like a woman who is-"

"Nonna!" Kara cut her off, looking to her mother and sister-in-law for some reprieve.

Marta began to sn.i.g.g.e.r as she tossed onions into the hot cast-iron skillet. "Paybacks are hard. How much did you tease me when I started dating your brother?"

Kara grimaced. Every chance I got, was the answer.

"Now what we all want to know, bambina. If he makes a kiss look so wonderful, how is he the rest of the way?"

Kara felt the flush of heat roar up to her cheeks, and Nonna smacked the counter with her palm.

"Good for him, bambina. Good for you. You want a man in your bed who can make you feel that way."

Kara glanced at her mother and sister-in-law. They both turned away from her. It was bad enough to think about your parents having s.e.x, but your grandmother? It was more than any of them were ready for.

Maybe if Justin found his way downstairs to the kitchen, they would stop talking about him.

"Hey, when's dinner?"

Mama looked at the ceiling and swatted Rudi affectionately as he came off the stairs. "Every day the same. It doesn't matter when I cook, you know it will be done in thirty minutes when my darling boy shows up with an empty stomach. Get the antipasto tray from the refrigerator and take it back up to your papa. You boys be nice to Kara's young man."

"Don't worry, Mama. Papa and Junior already got that covered." Rudi took the tray and was eating a rolled-up piece of salami before he hit the stairs back up to the living room.

"Maybe I should go rescue him." Kara tried to head out.

"Maybe you should shred this cheese for the lasagna first." Her mother handed her several b.a.l.l.s of fresh mozzarella.

"So, Nonna"-Marta tossed some green peppers into the pan, evoking a fresh sizzle-"how good a kisser is he?"

Kara groaned. She'd been right the first time; no chance of reprieve.

"I must admit, most of the sports in my part of Texas have to do with horses." Justin knew he was in dangerous territory here. He had met enough Yankees and Mets fans in the service to know better than to ever mention the Astros or the Rangers. And he'd wager that bringing up the Dallas Cowboys and going for a change from baseball to football wouldn't help matters much either.

The game on the television was in the sixth inning, the Toronto Blue Jays down by a lot to the Yankees. No one was paying close attention to it, even though that's where their focus remained as they spoke.

"We have a good minor league team in Amarillo though. The Amarillo Thunderheads, though they were the Amarillo Sox all while I was growing up."

"Like the Red Sox?" Rudi asked, returning with a big plate of individually rolled-up meats alongside olives and some kind of bright green peppers Justin didn't recognize.

"Same spelling, but not as good."

"You think the Red Sox are any good?" Joe, Kara's middle brother, jumped in as if looking for any angle of attack.

Justin opened his mouth, then realized that he was about to praise the Yankees' main rivals, the Boston Red Sox. He'd always felt a kindness toward them just because of that same s-o-x spelling. He closed his mouth again.

"I see you're a smart one, Justin." Mr. Moretti spoke. "Don't let my boys rattle you none. Though if you said something nice about the Phillies..." He left the threat hanging.

Justin didn't really follow baseball very closely. Was he supposed to praise or despise the Philadelphia team? Despise, he decided. New Yorkers looked down on everywhere outside their city limits.

"I'd never do such a thing, sir."

Mr. Moretti grunted in a pleased way that didn't seem to have much to do with one team or another. He ate one of the pickled peppers.

Justin tried one, biting it cautiously in the middle. It exploded with liquid that dribbled down his chin and burned where he'd just shaved.

"You have to bite pepperoncini off close to the stem and eat them whole, son. Can't take just a part and end up with anything good."

And it was clear that Mr. Moretti wasn't talking about pickled peppers either.

By the fourth knock on his bedroom door, Justin had pretty much given up on sleep. Marta, Angela, and even Nonna had each wanted to "just make sure he was comfortable."

Marta had delivered a gla.s.s of warm milk.

Mrs. Moretti had brought him a delicate china plate of some chocolate cookies called baci that went very well with the milk.

Nonna had actually giggled like a far younger woman when he offered her one. How was he supposed to know that baci meant kisses in Italian? He'd been given a plate of "kiss" cookies and offered one to a woman fifty years his senior.

Now the fourth knock repeated and Justin wondered if it was Alfonso Moretti Senior showing up with his .38 Special, Al Junior with a Taser, or Joe with a butcher's knife. Only Rudi had given him any sign of friendliness. Apparently Kara's approval was all Rudi needed to know.

"Yes, come in." He wanted to hide beneath the covers.

"Kinda terse greeting for a cowboy." Kara slipped into the room. Her flannel robe was nearly floor length, but the backlight from the hall revealed that it was a light material, and plenty of her shape was silhouetted to fire up his imagination and other parts of his body.