The Sicilian's Bride by Carol Grace Page B

nothing if he had.
    “Fine,” she said briskly. Never show anxiety. Always project confidence. Never trust or rely on anyone but yourself. Lessons she’d learned early on. “Except for a few glitches.”
    “Glitches?”
    “Problems.” Sometimes she forgot he didn’t know every American slang word. “Like the trailer had a flat tire.”
    “And…?”
    “I found another and I changed it myself.”
    She bit back a little smile at the way his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t thought she could do it.
    “I watched you, remember?” she reminded him.
    “Good for you. You’re a fast learner.”
    She blinked. Was that another compliment?
    “The men all show up?” he asked.
    “Yes, but they have nothing to do while I’m here doing errands.”
    “Nothing? What about picking the grapes and putting them into baskets?”
    She gritted her teeth together. Why didn’t she think of that? Because she didn’t know there were baskets. She’d changed a tire, but there was more to be done. Much, much more.
    “Yes, of course,” she said. “That’s what they’re doing.” She didn’t think they were doing anything, but she didn’t want to tell Dario that. Didn’t want him to think she had a problem in the world that she couldn’t solve. Didn’t want him to thinkshe couldn’t manage her hired help by herself. Or at least command respect.
    “I’ll stop by and see what’s happening,” he said.
    “You don’t need to go up there. I have everything under control.” She didn’t want him acting as if he had the right to take over her job. It was her place and if she needed help, she’d rather get it from someone else. Someone neutral who didn’t have something to gain when she failed.
    “I’m going to the bank, then I’ll head back up the mountain,” she added.
    “You haven’t done that yet?”
    What did he think she was, a robot?
    “I did go, but they weren’t open yet.”
    He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how stupid she was not to know the banking hours of a small-town bank in a strange country. She’d like to see him in America, challenged by the language, hiring a crew, moving into a house that needed repairs and starting a new business. That would be a very satisfying scenario—to watch him struggle with something…anything. Just a dent in his self-assurance—which bordered on arrogance—would improve her disposition. Just to know she wasn’t the only one who made mistakes.
    “While you’re in town, you might want to negotiate with the company to turn the power back on, if you want electricity, that is. If you do, you’ll need to run a wire from the nearest line. And pick up a tank of propane so you can use your stove.”
    “I’m just waiting for it now.”
    If he wanted to overwhelm and confuse her and make her think she couldn’t handle it, he was not going to succeed. Because she could and she would. The main thing was to let him know she was on top of everything.
    “I don’t need electricity just yet. I’ll get some candles and I’m sure I’ll be fine without lights for a while,” she said loftily.
    “And will you be fine without running water? You’ll need diesel oil for the engine that pumps water to the tank from the well.”
    “Of course I know about diesel oil,” she said, waving a hand at the pump. “I’m getting some here.”
    She had planned to skip the problem of running water because she’d buy a case of mineral water, but if he found out it would shout “spoiled American heiress” to him. She did want to live off the land if possible. “And I know I’ll need electricity eventually.”
    “Only if you’re really planning on living there.”
    “Oh, I am.”
    Some day she’d have everything under control just as he did. She’d have water and power and a roof without a hole in it. She’d be making prize-winning wine. She’d have friends and neighbors over to wonderful dinners cooked on her propane-fired stove. She’d invite local people