“Of course,” Heather murmured, taking another bite. So good. “I’m Heather.”
“I know, dear. You’re Louise Davis’s granddaughter, right? I was so sorry to hear of her passing, even though she just moved here last month.” The woman reached over and patted Heather’s hand. “I’m Elda Albertini.”
Albertini. “You’re Quint’s mom? He saved me last night.” Heather eyed the cookie plate.
Elda pushed the plate closer. “Aren’t you a sweet girl? I’m Quintino’sgrandmother. My second eldest son is Quint’s father. Everyone calls me Nonna Albertini.”
Grandmother? Whatever the woman’s skincare regimen was, Heather wanted to learn it. “It’s so very nice to meet you. Grams sent me a letter saying how nice everyone was in town, and I was looking forward to visiting and meeting everyone.” Before Grams had died unexpectedly from a stroke. Sadness wandered through Heather, and she reached for a second cookie. Why not?
Elda patted her hand again. “I didn’t have the time to get to know your grandmother, but she seemed lovely. Do you have any other family?”
“No,” Heather said, the sense of feeling alone swamping her. She shoved it away. “It was just Grams and me for most of my life. We lived in Boise until recently when Grams moved up here to fully retire.” It had been a month since she’d passed, and Heather was still grieving, but the good memories helped. “She was the best person in the world.” She tried to sit up straighter in the bed. “Her last wish was to have her ashes scattered into the wind from the top of Storm Mountain, and it took me a couple of weeks to get the right permits. That’s why I was up there in the winter. I was hoping to miss the snowstorm.”
“That was the right thing to do,” Elda said, nodding emphatically. “It’s going to be a late and wild winter season if my arthritic aching hands are anything to go by, and they are. You should stay off the mountain until next spring unless you’re in a four-wheeler or on a snowmobile. No hiking.”
“I agree.” Heather looked down at her cast and sighed.
Elda reached for a cookie and munched contentedly. “You said that you lived in Boise. Past tense.”
Heather nodded. “I did, but Grams left me her house, so I’m moving here. I can work from anywhere, and the town is so sweet and quaint.” More importantly, it didn’t have the bane of her existence living there. It was safe and strangers were noticed.
“That’s wonderful.” Elda finished her cookie and smiled. “What do you do?”
“I write and illustrate children’s books.” Heather perked up. “In fact, I’d love to start a new series featuring a rescue dog now that I’ve met Zena.” The ideas were already spinning around in her head.
Elda’s eyes sparkled. “Then you must get to know Zena better, right? We have a family barbecue every Sunday at my eldest son’s house, and I’ll give you directions.”
Heather’s mouth opened and then shut. “That’s kind of you, but I would never want to impose.”
“Don’t be silly.” Elda opened a flower decorated purse and rummaged around to bring out a pen and a small notepad. “Your grandma told me that your great uncle on her father’s side was Italian. A Banerosi, I believe.”
Heather blinked. “That sounds right.”
Elda quickly jotted down an address and handed the paper over. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Sure?” Heather was saved from having to find a more appropriate answer when Quint strode inside with Zena bounding beside him. Her body warmed and heat flushed into her face. “Hello.”
“Hi.” In the daylight, he was even more handsome. His dark hair curled beneath his ears, and his eyes were a light topaz today. He’d shaved, but a shadow was already covering what had to be considered a truly rugged jaw. Today he wore jeans and a faded tee that hugged very firm chest muscles Heather had felt the night before while he hiked down a mountain during a snowstorm and saved her life. He looked at his grandmother. “Nonna?”
“Hi, sweetheart.” Elda patted Zena on the head and then stood to reach up and place a kiss on his chin. “I was just talking to Heather, and she has Italian ancestry. Isn’t that just lovely?”
Quint sighed. “Nonna.”
Elda turned and smiled at Heather. “She was just telling me what a hero you are and how you saved her. At least you didn’t dropher.” With that, she patted Zena again and strode toward the door.
“That was eons ago.” Quint rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drop Anna, Nonna. Donna and I were swinging her and threw her in the river.”
“She broke her wrist,” Elda said smoothly.
“It was nearly two decades ago. She was four years old and she landed on a board that we didn’t know was floating in the water.” Quint shrugged his powerful shoulders. “I still maintain it wasn’t our fault, and Anna doesn’t hold any grudges. Well, until she wants a favor.”
“That’s between you and your cousin.” Elda waved from the doorway. “Heather is coming to the Sunday barbecue, and she probably shouldn’t drive. Take care of it.” Then she was gone.
Quint dropped into her vacated chair, his gaze direct on Heather. “Unless you want to get married next week, you’re gonna want to run. Trust me.”
Heather’s mouth went dry. “Um.”
He grinned, his muscled body overwhelming the simple chair. “You were probably somewhat safe until she discovered you have Italian blood. Now you’re fair game, so be prepared for matchmaking as you’ve never seen before.”
