Free Out of the Ashes by Lori Dillon Page B

buried under tons of dirt. They climbed the mound of earth surrounding its exterior wall, and Heberto drew David’s attention to a small figure in a shallow pit at the top.
    Roomy, tan trousers and a full white shirt did little to hide what was undoubtedly a very feminine figure beneath. David watched the woman digging as they approached. Each vicious jab of her shovel stabbed deep into the defenseless earth. She flung the dirt over her shoulder to fall nowhere near the bucket it was intended to land in.
    The woman threw the shovel at the ground in an obvious fit of temper, then dropped to her knees and began digging with her bare hands.
    “Serafina,” Heberto called as they drew near. “I have brought you someone to help with your digging.”
    With her back to them and a large-brimmed straw hat on her head, he had yet to see her face. She stopped clawing at the ground and placed her dirt-caked hands on her equally filthy thighs, the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders evidence of her recent exertion.
    “This is David Corbelli. The professore has assigned him to work with you.”
    The woman’s knuckles turned white as her fingers squeezed her thighs. Long seconds trickled by like the sweat running down David’s temples without a movement from her. Finally, she stood and turned to them. David was shocked, to say the least.
    Expecting to see the typical straight dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin so common among the Southern Italians, instead he was met with large blue eyes and a light, tanned complexion with just a smattering of freckles. Wild tendrils of hair escaped the confines of the hat, but the shadow it created prevented him from telling what color it was. Serafina Pisano looked so wholesome and all-American, he could have plucked her straight off any one of a dozen farms in Virginia.
    Then, she opened her mouth, and any illusions he had about her disappeared. A stream of colorful Italian curses flowed off her tongue, some aimed at him, but most directed at the male population in general.
    Nope, American she was not. Serafina Pisano was all fire-breathing Italian.
    Hands on her hips, she inspected him up and down.
    “Great. That’s all I need—another hot-blooded male.” She turned and stalked off, leaving David and Heberto to stand in her dust.
    Watching her storm away, David caught sight of Mount Vesuvius rising silently in the distance beyond the ruins. After witnessing Serafina’s explosive eruption, he wondered which was more volatile—the mountain or the woman?
    * * *
     
    Heberto crept silently into Maria Angelico’s home and made his way down the hallway. The house was quiet, the only sound the clattering of dishes in the kitchen sink. Most of the tenants who rented rooms in the villa had not yet returned for the evening.
    The old woman’s back was to him as he entered the kitchen, her attention focused on the dirty dishes. He tiptoed behind her and reached around to sneak a zeppole cooling on a tray on the counter. Without turning, Maria slapped at his hand with a soapy wooden spoon.
    He jerked the offending appendage back and cradled it against his chest.
    “What did you do that for?”
    “You’ll spoil your dinner. Besides, we’re not in heaven, Hershel.” Marsha turned from the sink and shook her index finger at him. “You can get fat, your arteries can clog, and you can have a heart attack. Don’t you even think about dying on me and leaving me here alone to finish this job.”
    “Darn it, Marsha.” Hershel pouted. “You’re taking all the fun out of being mortal again.”
    “We’re not here to have fun. We’re here to see to it that David and Serafina get together.” Marsha handed him one of the warm fritters and motioned him to sit at the small linoleum table before taking the chair opposite him. “So, how are things progressing on your end?”
    “Fine. I’ve managed to get David assigned as her assistant. That should give them plenty of time alone