Page 17 of The Rainbow Recipe
“He’s very unhappy and a little annoyed at us. He has better things to do with his time.” She walked toward the golf cart bouncing down the drive.
Dante could have told her that without reading minds or auras or whatever in heck she thought she was proving. He crutched his way after her.
The irritating female stuck out her hand to Leo after he drove up and climbed out of the cart. “Hi, I’m Priscilla Broadhurst. I’m a chef learning about olive oil production.”
Leo brightened considerably. “Leo Ugazio. My friend here spends too much time in the wilds of nowhere and forgets his manners.”
“It happens.” She shrugged. “While he plays in the dirt, perhaps you could just follow your usual schedule, let me go along, and fill me in as we go?”
Oh, si, the she-devil was plotting. He just didn’t know what. “Allora, I can follow you about in the cart while the tunnel is being cleared.” Dante swung onto the bench seat, gritting his teeth.
“It’s really not necessary,” she said with a toplofty glance. “I’ll be fine with Signor Ugazio.”
“Leo, call me Leo,per favore.” He offered his arm. “We’ll start with the press.
She didn’t take his arm but stuck her hands in the back pockets of her corduroys. Dante had never seen such heavy fabric filled out so—artfully. She had one hell of a posterior. He kept the cart on their heels as they strolled toward the sheds, just so he could study the cut of those trousers.
He didn’t follow them into the press room. He’d wasted too much of his life tracking Lucia in there or in the orchards or anywhere but the house. He wasn’t following another fool woman around. He pulled out his phone and caught up on business while his guest toured the facilities.
Blessedly, she emerged in record time, nodding her head at whatever Leo was telling her. As she approached his cart, he heard her ask, “I understand you used to produce creams and lotions. Was that an old family recipe?”
“Lucia and her grandmother.” Leo threw up her hands in disgust. “They had some fool notion we could make our fortunes with beauty products. We haven’t the equipment, of course. And ingredients on a small scale are much too expensive. People don’t want to buy expensive grease.”
Americans do, Dante thought.
Witchy woman cast him a glance. “Americans will,” she said, almost tauntingly. “But I imagine the manufacture would require chemists and health inspections and so forth. I can see why you would prefer a simple production. Lucia is your cousin?”
“She inherited the place.” Leo gestured at the fields. “But she likes city life better. That has its advantages. She found us a good sales outlet for our oil in the UK that paid top dollar, until Brexit happened, anyway.”
“The UK leaving the EU raised tariffs? I can’t get good Italian wine or olive oil without paying a premium, but I assumed that was the cost of shipping.”
Dante shifted restlessly. He had no interest in market talk, but for some reason, he stayed attune to this conversation.
“The cost of everything went up, including shipping. I’ve been trying to tell Lucia that we’ll have to negotiate a substantial price increase with our next contract, or I’ll have to return to selling local, but she’s been ignoring me.” Leo started toward the bottling shed.
“Her half-sister just died. I imagine that leaves her buried in obligations.” The devil woman didn’t sound concerned.
Dante was pretty damned certain that was an act.
“Katherine is dead?” Leo asked in surprise and shock. “How?”
“They’re saying a heart attack. She was opening a line of boutiques in the U.S. It was in all the papers.” She strolled along, allowing Leo to open the shed door for her.
This time, Dante maneuvered himself out of the cart and followed.
“I don’t have time for news. Lucia must be devastated.” Leo hunched his shoulders in thought. “She and Kat were polar opposites, but they were there for each other after their mother died. I’d send flowers, but the last address I have is old. I wonder if I could call the warehouse and ask where to send them.”
“That’s a thought, although a personal note might be better. It’s hard to say when they’ll hold the funeral.”
Leo didn’t know where his own cousin lived? The one who owned his livelihood?
As if Dante had screamed his thoughts, Priscilla turned to study him. “Since you were neighbors, I assume you know Lucia?”
Leo answered for him. “Lucia dumped Dante when she left for London. She only returned once to leave the twins. No one said my cousin is an angel.”
Dante knew a lot about devils in disguise.
Eleven: Evie
