A Family Kind of Gal Read Online Free

practically legendary.”
    His jaw hardened, and he climbed to his feet. He winced, then hitched himself across the room to stare out the window over the sink.
    â€œWhat happened?” she asked, angry with herself for being concerned. J.D. Santini was the last man she should care about “Did you hurt yourself?”
    â€œTore a couple of tendons. It’s not a big deal.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œA few months ago. Motorcycle accident.”
    â€œOh.” So there was still a bit of the rebel in him. Good. For some reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, she found that bit of information comforting, but she couldn’t dwell on it Wouldn’t. “No one told me.”
    â€œWhy would they?”
    â€œBecause, dammit, I am still part of the family.”
    â€œI was laid up for a few days. No big deal. Believe me, if it had been life-threatening, you would have been notified.”
    â€œBefore or after the funeral?”
    His jaw tightened. “You act as if you’re ostracized. The way I remember it, you came down here and cut the ties, so to speak, because you wanted to.”
    That much was true. She’d run fast and hard to get away from the suffocating grip of the Santini family.
    â€œLet’s not get into all that,” she suggested. “It’s water under the bridge, anyway. Why don’t you tell me why, if you’re working for the company, you’re in Bittersweet?”
    â€œDad’s interested in buying some land around here someplace. Potential winery.”
    â€œAnd you’re the expert?” This wasn’t making a lot of sense.
    â€œLooks like.”
    She didn’t remember him being so evasive. In fact, the J.D. she’d known had been blunt and direct, a man who could make you squirm with his intense, no-nonsense gaze, thin-lipped mouth that rarely smiled and somewhat harsh demeanor. With raven-black hair, thick eyebrows and sculpted features, he never gave an inch and was known to call them as he saw them. And never had he worked for his father. The way Philip had told it, J.D. the renegade, eleven years his junior, was forever at odds with his old man. But then who could get along with Carlo Santini, patriarch with the iron fist and closed mind?
    Something wasn’t right. She sensed it and began to perspire. She cracked open the windows in the kitchen nook. “You know, Jay, you’re the last person, the very last, I expected to cave in and join the family business.”
    â€œLife has a way of not turning out the way you expect it, Tiffany. Haven’t you learned that by now?” His lips barely moved, his eyes caught hers in a breathtaking hold that she hated, and she felt the first trickle of sweat slide between her shoulder blades. Her stomach did a slow, sensual roll, reminding her of just how easy it was to fall prey to his charm.
    But not now. Not again. Never.
    She swallowed hard and avoided his eyes. Suddenly the kitchen was much too small. Too close. She needed a reason to break up this unexpected atmosphere of intimacy with J.D.
    â€œOh, gosh, it’s almost three,” she said, staring pointedly at her watch. “Christina,” she called, looking through the window and spying her daughter drawing on the side of the garage with a piece of yellow chalk. “Time for your nap.”
    â€œNo nap!” The little girl dropped the chalk.
    â€œExcuse me,” Tiffany said, hurrying out the back door and feeling the much-needed breath of a breeze touch her face and bare arms. It had been a long, strained week capped by a hellish day speaking with Stephen’s counselor. On top of it all, she’d learned that her father—John Cawthorne—actually expected her to show up at his wedding after thirty-three years of pretending she didn’t exist. Fat chance!
    Charcoal, who had been rolling over in a spot of sunlight, scrambled to his feet and dashed under the porch.