Читать книгу His Mother's Wedding - Judy Duarte - Страница 10

At just after five o’clock Rico arrived at his mom’s house—a small, two-bedroom tract home on a quiet street in Westlake Falls.

Three years ago, when the first phase of the development had been released, he’d surprised her by purchasing her a new house. She’d gotten over her shock and quickly set about hanging pictures and making it her own.

She’d not only decorated the inside but had done a great job with the landscape, too. The wood-and-wrought-iron bench on the lawn had been added since the last time he’d come to visit, and so had the concrete garden figurine—an angel, no doubt. Or maybe it was a cupid.

For as along as Rico could remember, his mom had had a talent for making a run-down shack feel like home.

Each time she moved into a place, she left her mark by setting a glass bowl of potpourri on the coffee table, framed photographs on the mantel, a vanilla-scented candle on the counter and other things like that. And if she knew Rico was stopping by, there would always be something cooking on the stove or baking in the oven.

He admired that about her, the ability to provide him a place where he could temporarily slip off his cloak of cynicism and hang it by the door.

Of course, this time he wouldn’t be removing his “outerwear.” He was going to need it to check out the new man in her life, to make sure his mom would be treated well—that she’d be appreciated, respected.

To him, that was a hell of a lot more important than being in love with her soul mate.

As Rico slowed in front of the house, he saw that his mom had parked her Ford Taurus at a diagonal, taking up the entire driveway. So he pulled his Corvette along the curb, behind a blue Toyota Corolla that had seen better years.

He sure hoped the Toyota didn’t belong to Dr. Osterhout. If his mom was going to get married again, he wanted her husband to be able to support her in the manner she deserved. And he’d feel better if the dentist drove a late-model Mercedes or Lincoln.

His preliminary investigation showed the guy to be on the up-and-up. But Rico still wasn’t convinced. When it came to choosing men, at least the last couple of times, his mom’s track record had been lousy.

Rico got out of his car and took another look at the Toyota. An artificial red rose was attached to the antenna with a ribbon, suggesting the driver couldn’t always remember where he or she parked. The rear bumper had a few dings, not to mention a dented New York license plate. Dang. Maybe his car would be safer if he parked across the street.

“Hello, honey.” His mom, dressed in black slacks and a lightweight gray sweater, stepped onto the front porch and met him in the driveway with a warm hug.

He inhaled the familiar scent of gardenias, a fragrance that belonged only to her.

“How was your drive?” she asked as she led him into the small white house.

“It wasn’t bad.” He nodded over his shoulder, toward the Toyota. “Whose car?”

“It’s Molly’s. I’ll introduce you.”

Oh, yeah. The lady who wanted to find her sister.

As they stepped into the living room that had been painted a pale green, Rico scanned the small, cozy interior, looking for his mom’s friend.

Expecting a middle-aged woman, he was blindsided by a petite twenty-something blonde in the center of the room.

She stood about five-three and wore her shoulder-length hair in a classic style. A simple black knit dress stretched whisper-soft along each feminine curve.

Her smile sucked the air out of the room.

Had they been at a club in the city, he would have easily picked her out of the crowd and sidled up to her, asked if he could buy her a drink. Maybe taken her out on the dance floor. And if she’d been agreeable, they might have ended the night in bed.

But what was a woman like her doing at his mom’s house?

“Rico,” his mother said, “this is my friend Molly, the one I told you about.”

Unbelievable. This was his mom’s friend?

For a guy who prided himself on being prepared for the unexpected, Rico was damn near gawking at her. But damn, he’d always been partial to blondes.

He tried to rein in his surprise and extended an arm in greeting. “How do you do?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Molly took his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her skin was soft, cool. Her fingers delicate. Her nails unpolished, plain yet filed neatly. Silver heart charms dangled from a chain on her wrist.

His gaze locked on hers, and he studied her eyes, the brilliant shade of green, the tiny gold flecks. The thick, spiky lashes that didn’t need mascara.

Shake it off, he reprimanded himself. This lady was a friend of his mom’s, for God’s sake. Looking for a husband and kids, no doubt.

In the past, his mom had tried to play matchmaker by introducing him to women like Molly. But Rico hadn’t taken the bait. Hopefully she’d learned her lesson, since it had been a while since she’d tried to set him up.

Molly flashed him another pretty smile that damn near knocked the wind out of him, then slowly pulled her fingers from his grasp.

Had he held her hand a few seconds too long? He hadn’t meant to. But he wasn’t going to stress about it. It had to happen to her all the time.

“Molly and I met when I was shopping at Betty’s Bridal Boutique,” his mom said.

Oh, yeah. The wedding. It had completely slipped his mind the moment he strode into the room and laid eyes on Molly.

They’d met at Betty’s Bridal Boutique, huh? Had the pretty blonde been looking for a wedding dress, too?

That wouldn’t surprise him. He imagined a lot of guys would want to stake a permanent claim on an attractive woman like her.

“And with Molly’s help,” his mom said, “I found the perfect dress. It’s off-white, with a pearl-encrusted bodice. And it was on sale. It’ll need alterations, but it’s gorgeous.”

“You bought the dress already?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “What if you change your mind?” Or to be more accurate, what if he managed to convince her she was jumping into things too quickly?

“Don’t be silly son. I’m not going to change my mind. But I only put the dress on hold. I wanted you to see it first.”

Rico glanced at Molly. A starry-eyed smile bore evidence of her support of the wedding. No wonder she and his mom were fast friends.

“You really ought to see the dress on her,” Molly interjected. “It’s perfect. And with the calla lilies she chose for her bouquet…”

Rico’s turned to his mom. “I thought you said it was just going to be a small church ceremony.”

“There are a lot of formalities to consider when planning a wedding, no matter what size. And Betty’s offers a consultant to help with it all.”

“You’re talking to a wedding planner?” The surprised tone in his voice escalated in spite of his natural inclination to remain cool, in control of his emotions. Unaffected.

But for Pete’s sake, she was getting carried away.

He never could understand how women could get so damn caught up in all that bridal fuss. It was like the senior prom, only more ostentatious and a complete waste of time, money and emotion.

No one would ever rope Rico into a formal ceremony, assuming he ever found a reason to get married in the first place. But women seemed to go nuts over all the pomp and circumstance. And the wedding vendors—or rather, bridal vultures—saw them coming a mile away. Hell, all anyone had to do was mention the word wedding and the price of flowers, bands, banquet halls and the rest of that crap tripled.

He knew. His buddy Mac had complained to him at length about it.

“Daniel and I plan to keep the guest list under a hundred,” his mom said.

Hell, even that sounded like a circus to Rico. “I thought you were going to keep things simple. Small.”

“We are, but there’s a lot of etiquette involved, and Daniel and I want things to be done right.” His mom lobbed a smile at her pretty, young friend. “Molly has been a godsend, especially since I’ve never had a real wedding before.”

Rico tore his gaze from his mother, then looked at Molly, realizing she was much more than a pretty face. He didn’t mean that as a compliment either. “Don’t tell me you’re the wedding consultant?”

“Yes,” Molly said, “I am.”

Damn. She probably worked on commission and had spotted his mom as an easy mark. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot. “Do you mind if we backpedal just a bit?”

“All right,” his mom said. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

“Good idea.” His mother’s explanations usually took a while, so he glanced at the only chair in the room. “Do you mind if I take a seat?”

“Of course not.” His mom plopped down in the green-and-lavender-plaid easy chair, leaving the coordinating floral sofa for Rico and Molly to share.

For a moment he got a strange sense that he was being set up, and not just with his mother’s wedding. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just his response to the unwelcome attraction he was feeling to his mother’s wedding planner. In which case, designating pretty Molly as the enemy ought to take the edge off that.

“I already told you about meeting Daniel and falling in love with him,” his mom said, her eyes glistening.

When Rico stole a glance at Molly, he saw her smiling and getting all misty-eyed, too. What was with women? Or at least these two? He couldn’t find anything sentimental about a wedding, especially someone’s fifth.

Molly sat on the edge of the cushion and tugged at the hem of her dress, making sure it reached her knees.

They were lovely knees, he realized. Nice legs, too.

But they were the knees and legs of the adversary, his mom’s matrimonial cheerleader.

“Three weeks ago,” his mom began, “I stopped by Betty’s Bridal Boutique to look at dresses and to get some information about weddings. And that’s when I met Molly.” She blessed her young friend with a grin. “We hit it off immediately and had lunch together the next day. We have a lot in common in spite of our age difference.”

Stars in their eyes, for one thing.

“I told you about Molly,” his mom added. “Remember? On the telephone. And you agreed to help her find her sister.”

So what was this—an attack from all sides?

They had him squirming in his seat—first with the wedding his mom didn’t need, then with the free investigative work.

He hoped to hell he’d been mistaken about the cupid stuff.

Inadvertently he slid a peek at Molly’s lap, where her hands rested primly. Her fingers were bare—not a diamond ring or a gold band in sight.

Great.

“Son, why don’t I get you something to drink? I have iced tea, orange-mango juice, wine….”

“I’d like a scotch,” Rico told her, thinking he’d better relax and not allow his emotions to get the better of him. Damn, this was going to be a hell of a long evening.

“Molly?” his mom asked. “How about you?”

The attractive blonde glanced at her bracelet, which he realized was actually a wristwatch.

“A glass of wine would be nice,” she said.

When his mother disappeared, Rico leaned back in his seat, determined to take control of the conversation. “First of all, you can put down your pom-poms, Mollyanna.”

“Excuse me?” Her tone was sharp, spunky, her spine ramrod straight.

He’d offended her, he supposed. And for a moment he thought about apologizing, starting over. But the physical attraction that didn’t seem to be abating put him at a disadvantage. So he took the offense rather than the defense.

“Let’s get something straight. I agreed to pay for this wedding. And it’s not a matter of cost—I’d give my mom the moon if I could. But she’s been married four times already. And I think under the circumstances things should be quiet and discreet.”

Molly turned to face him, the hem of her dress sliding up her leg, revealing more skin than she probably realized and prompting him to swallow another urge to apologize and slip into a defensive stance.

“There’s been a lot of heartbreak in your mother’s past,” she said. “And she deserves to be happy. Dr. Osterhout and your mom are truly in love.”

Rico tried not to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t hold back an exasperated sigh. “I hope you’re right, but I’m a realist. I’ve seen the seedy side of life too often—firsthand as a kid, when I was a cop and sometimes when I’m investigating a case. And I’ve seen some of my mom’s marriages. I don’t believe in fairy tales and happy ever afters.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, then back to him, as though she felt sorry for him for some stupid reason. But she didn’t need to. He’d come out on top. And he was stronger and tougher because of it.

So he brushed her sympathy aside. “There were only two men who deserved my mother’s love and faith—my dad and my stepfather, Frank Stafford. And they died, leaving her heartbroken.”

The other two husbands weren’t worth mentioning.

“Your mom loved your father and Frank with a passion, and their deaths were hard on her.”

“I know they were. So you’ll have to excuse me for not getting all excited about her loving someone with a passion again.” Rico hadn’t ever known his dad, since he’d died in a five-car pileup on the Jersey Turnpike when Rico had been a baby. But he’d known—and adored—Frank, who’d entered their lives when Rico was in the first grade. But five years later Frank had been shot in a mysterious hunting “accident.”

“Your mom said that Frank’s death had been hard on you.”

That wasn’t true. Frank’s death had been devastating to them both, but Rico had sucked it up when his mom hadn’t been able to.

But then again, at the time Rico had focused on the details and questions surrounding Frank’s death. Even as a kid Rico had known hunters got accidentally shot—but not while hunting on private property when supposedly no one else was around.

“Your mom was brokenhearted when Frank died,” Molly added.

As if Rico didn’t remember. He’d been crushed, too. Frank had been the kind of father—step or otherwise—any child would love to have. The problem was, Frank’s death had left them alone again. There’d been a small insurance policy that time, but when the money had run out, his mom had been forced to go back to work and Rico had become a latchkey kid.

But hey, that was okay. He’d learned to be tough, to take care of himself. And to look after his mom, too.

Rico had only been twelve, but he’d earned a little cash by doing odd jobs, like sweeping storefronts and picking up trash. And together they’d been able to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

“Sometimes,” Molly said, “when a person is hurting and gets involved in another relationship too soon, it can lead to disaster.”

Now she was talking. Rico sat up straight. “That’s exactly what happened when my mom hooked up with Tom Crenshaw.”

Colette had met the photocopier repairman while she’d been working for a temp agency, and he’d swept her off her feet—something that could easily happen when walking on clouds instead of solid ground.

Crenshaw had talked a good story, but after the two of them got married, he got bored.

“She told me he ran off with a college student,” Molly said.

“Yeah. A liberal-studies major who moonlighted at a topless bar.”

“That’s too bad,” Molly said, her voice soft, sympathetic.

“No, it wasn’t. My mom was better off without him. And she was better off without number four, too.”

That one had been a used-car salesman with a gambling problem.

“At least she asked him to leave,” Molly said, her voice reflecting her rose-colored worldview.

“It’s too bad she didn’t boot his butt out of the house before he pissed away the bulk of everything she’d managed to save over the years.”

“So she made a couple of mistakes. That doesn’t mean she should suffer by being alone for the rest of her life.”

“What’s the matter with being alone?” he asked her.

She didn’t answer, which made him think that she lived alone and disliked it. That in the evening she watched chick flicks, as his mom was prone to do, which probably was the reason they both thought they were missing out on something.

But he shook off his curiosity. It didn’t take a high-priced psychologist to figure out he and Molly weren’t suited. No matter how partial he was to blondes, no matter how attracted he was to her.

So Rico reverted back to the previous conversation about his mom’s lousy choice of men, particularly her last husband. “If I ever get my hands on that guy, he’s dog meat.”

“You’d hurt him?” Molly’s brow furrowed as though she thought Rico was some kind of ax murderer.

“I probably won’t get the chance to have words with him or lay a hand on him. From what I found out, more than one shady bookie had it in for him. And chances are he’s sleeping in the Hudson.”

She clicked her tongue, like a teacher who was disappointed with one of her young students, then blew out a weary—no, make that a sympathetic—sigh. “After all your mother’s been through, I’d think you’d like to see her happy.”

“Hey, there’s nothing I’d like better. But I don’t want to see her hurt. Again.”

“Neither do I, but it’ll be different this time. Dr. Osterhout is a wonderful man. Wait until you meet him.” Mollyanna flashed him a hope-filled smile.

Damn. Talk about someone having a sunny attitude. “You’re a lot like my mom.”

She flashed him another smile. “Thank you.”

He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but she hadn’t picked up on that.

For a moment she plucked at the hem of her dress, then glanced up. Her emotion-laden gaze snagged his, making him almost feel guilty about something he should have said or done. “Your mom told me you might be able to help find my sister.”

He shrugged. “My mom sometimes asks me to do a favor for her friends.”

“I don’t expect a free ride.” Sincerity rang out in her voice. “I have some money put aside to pay for your services.”

That old car outside, with the dents near the bumper, suggested she couldn’t even pay attention.

But before Rico could come up with a response that wasn’t cynical, his mother swept into the room carrying a tray with two wineglasses and a glass of scotch.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. But while I was in the kitchen, I gave Daniel a call on his cell phone. He’s on his way over here now.” She placed the tray on the glass-topped coffee table, next to a crystal bowl filled with her signature potpourri. “I hope you two had a chance to chat.”

Molly offered her friend a smile but bit her tongue. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting when Rico Garcia sauntered into his mother’s living room, but certainly not a tall, dark hunk.

Colette had been right about him being handsome.

Okay, so her unmarried son was drop-dead gorgeous, with that thick head of dark hair, those golden-brown eyes and a dazzling smile that sent Molly’s pulse skyrocketing.

He also had one of those avowed-bachelor auras, with a you-can-trust-me-baby dimple in his cheek and an I’ll-call-you-in-a-couple-of-days smile.

No, Rico Garcia was a heartbreak waiting to happen.

He was also cynical and rude.

She’d wanted to pop him in the chops when he’d called her Mollyanna. As if being optimistic was a bad thing rather than an asset.

So why was she still having a hard time keeping her eyes off him? And why did her heart do somersaults each time he branded her with a gaze?

“We chatted a bit,” Rico admitted as he picked up his glass and took a slow, steady drink.

They’d chatted long enough for her to know that Rico wanted to put a damper on his mom’s wedding plans. And that when it came to romance, he had a pessimistic streak that ran from the tips of his black, curly hair to the bottoms of his snazzy Italian-leather shoes.

And long enough for her to peg him a ladies’ man, a flirt and the kind of bachelor she steered clear of.

But they hadn’t talked nearly enough. Molly was eager to discuss Lori, to give the private investigator what little information she had. To find out if there was any way to locate her younger sister.

As they each nursed their drinks, Molly couldn’t help gazing at Rico when he wasn’t looking. There was something magnetic about the guy. Something compelling. Something she’d have to guard against, which shouldn’t be too difficult. In spite of being a romantic at heart, Molly wasn’t stupid.

“We have dinner reservations at Antonio’s,” Colette said. “I hope six o’clock is all right with you.”

“The sooner the better.” Rico leaned back into the sofa cushion and stretched out his legs. “I only had a bagel and coffee for breakfast and worked through lunch.”

Molly was hungry, too. And she’d heard some nice things about Antonio’s. The classy restaurant was under new management and had hired a chef who was supposedly incredible.

The telephone rang and Colette answered. Her face brightened, and Molly suspected it was Daniel on the line.

In spite of Rico’s concern, Molly truly believed that Colette couldn’t have fallen for a nicer man. Or for one who would treat her better.

“Of course I understand,” Colette said. “But why don’t I meet you at your office? I can sit in the waiting room, then we can drive to Antonio’s together.”

Molly had no idea what Daniel was saying, but Colette’s side of the conversation gave her a clue.

“Not at all, dear. I’m sure Rico and Molly won’t mind riding together.”

We wouldn’t? Molly slid a glance at Rico, saw his furrowed brow and suspected he might have a few qualms himself.

And she couldn’t blame him. This whole dinner thing was beginning to look suspiciously like a romantic setup. And if it was, Colette had better scrap that star-crossed plan right away.

“Of course, Daniel. I’ll leave as soon as I put on some lipstick and get my purse. I can be at your office in fifteen minutes.” Colette hung up the telephone, plopped her hands on the armrests of her chair and grinned. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to calls like that. One of Daniel’s patients has a dental emergency, and he can’t meet us here.”

Molly supposed it could be true. But why did she feel as if she were being railroaded? Did Colette really think her son needed a woman like Molly?

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Still, when she stole another peek at Rico and caught him studying her, her heart jumped and her pulse went a little screwy.

Darn it. She had her future all mapped out, and a man like Rico Garcia wasn’t a part of it. She needed someone with a predictable schedule, someone who looked forward to spending evenings and weekends at home with the family. Someone who’d be willing to turn in his sports car for a minivan.

Of course, Molly did need Rico to help her find her sister.

Maybe she could talk to him about Lori when they rode together—an upside to Colette’s matchmaking, she decided.

“Do you know where Antonio’s is?” Colette asked her son.

“Yeah. It’s on the corner of Ninth and Westlake Boulevard, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s on Raymond, just off Jefferson Parkway. Near the bookstore.”

“I’ll find it.” Rico set his nearly full glass of scotch on the tray that rested on the coffee table. Then he got up from the sofa and looked at Molly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

He seemed to be taking this all in stride, so why shouldn’t she?

She placed her wineglass on the tray, then reached for her purse, slipped the shoulder strap over her arm, grabbed her trusty day planner and stood. “I can drive. I know where the restaurant is.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I don’t like sitting in the passenger seat.”

She didn’t suppose he did.

As he placed a hand on the small of her back, a jolt of heat shot clear through her.

Oh, for goodness sake, how could his touch have that kind of effect on her when he was definitely Mr. Wrong?

As he escorted her out the door and to his car, she couldn’t help commenting about an article she’d recently read in a women’s magazine. “They say you tell a lot about people by the cars they drive.”

He glanced at her Toyota. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

In spite of the warmth from his touch, her backbone stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean? I can afford a better car, but I’ve been saving my money to pay for a private investigator.”

“I wasn’t sizing up your bank account, just your driving skill.” He nodded toward the rear of her car, where the trunk had been dented.

“I bought that car used, and it came that way. I could have paid for some bodywork but chose to save the money and use it to cover the cost of finding my sister.”

“And what about that little red rosebud tied onto the antenna with the ribbon?”

She crossed her arms and stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you forget where you’re parked?”

Once in a while, when she had her mind on other things. But she’d be darned if she’d admit it.

The best defense was a good offense, she’d always been told. “You don’t think that I’ve got you figured out, too? What kind of man drives a vintage sports car?”

“One who likes to eat in diners, drink cherry Cokes and listen to oldies on a jukebox.”

“Or perhaps one who wants to appear more manly, more powerful? More potent?”

“Yeah, right.” He surprised her by opening the passenger door. “Get in.” His voice held a rugged, demanding edge, yet his hand gently slid from her back.

The man was a contradiction if she’d ever met one.

As she stooped to climb into the passenger seat, she flashed more of her leg than she’d intended. She glanced up, not at all surprised to see him watching, appreciation glimmering in his eye.

“By the way,” she said, “I just figured out another reason you have this car. You like to watch women get in and out of it.”

He shot her a crooked grin. “Yep. You’ve got me pegged, all right.”

Something told her that she didn’t. Not completely. But there was no doubt about some things. Rico Garcia was a ladies’ man. And after his initial gruffness, a real charmer.

If a woman wasn’t careful, she could be easily swept off her feet.

Rico closed her door, then walked around the car and slid behind the wheel. As the engine roared to life, Molly decided to hang on to her hat.

And to her better judgment.