Читать книгу His Mother's Wedding - Judy Duarte - Страница 11

At a quarter to six Rico and Molly arrived at Antonio’s, a waterfront restaurant that offered diners the charm of old-world Italy and a gorgeous view of Lake Lassiter as it sat amidst the rolling lawns of the city park.

When Rico told the hostess they were with the Osterhout party, the young woman led them past a rustic stone fireplace and into a dining room with textured white plaster walls separated by dark wood beams. She escorted them to a linen-draped table near the large bay window that would allow them to watch the sun slide into the pristine water.

Rico held Molly’s chair as she took a seat, then sat across from her.

It was one of the most romantic settings she had ever seen, and for a moment it seemed as though she was on a date with the handsome private investigator—as silly as that was. She’d never date a man like Rico, but that didn’t mean she was immune to his heart-strumming smile or his musky, mountain-crisp scent.

She was, however, determined to ignore the effect he had on her.

Rico asked the hostess if she’d send over some bread.

“Of course, sir.”

When the woman walked away, Rico cast Molly a Casanova smile. “Did I mention being hungry?”

“A couple of times.” She couldn’t help but grin.

“The dentist will have to forgive me for being rude and not waiting. But I’ve got to eat something.”

“I’m sure he and your mom will understand.”

She’d meant to bring up the subject of her sister while they rode in his car, but the timing hadn’t seemed right. So they had talked about his Corvette, about the mint condition of the interior, the speed it reached on an open road. The car suited him, she supposed.

Moments later, when one of the busboys brought water and set a basket on the table, Rico offered Molly the first choice of several small precut loaves of fresh-baked bread—French, sourdough, pumpernickel….

She took a slice of the baguette, and he chose the sourdough.

“So,” he said, taking his knife and smearing a thick slab of butter on his bread, “tell me about the sister you want to locate.”

Molly wasn’t sure where to begin. There were some things she never revealed to the men she ate dinner with. In fact, there were some memories she’d never even shared with her friends.

But this was different. Rico was a private investigator, and she’d tell him anything she could remember that might help him locate Lori.

“I was born in Los Angeles,” she began, “the oldest of two girls. My dad was an on-again, off-again junkie, and I don’t remember much about my mother other than she left one night to buy a pack of cigarettes and never came back.”

Rico listened intently, his demeanor taking on a professional air, which made it easier for her to share the things she kept close to the vest.

“My father was pretty worthless,” she admitted, “so I took over as a surrogate mother to my younger sister, Lori.”

Rico took a sip of water and watched her over the rim of his glass. He didn’t speak, didn’t prod her to keep going, but an intensity in his eyes told her he was listening carefully.

“My dad wasn’t big on wasting what little money he brought home on groceries, so I’d have to be a little creative.” She shrugged. “You know, soda crackers and beer nuts for breakfast, stale-bread-and-ketchup sandwiches for lunch. That sort of thing.”

Again she tried to read something in his eyes—sympathy, disgust. Something that might suggest she ought to keep quiet and hold on to the rest of the ugliness. But he merely listened, hiding his opinion as a professional should.

Earlier he’d told her that he’d seen the seedy side of life. She supposed he was realizing that she’d seen a bit of it herself.

She picked up her fork and ran a finger across the edge of the tines, then replaced it beside her plate. For a moment she struggled with making eye contact, then shrugged it off and caught his gaze. “One day when I was eleven, we were left alone for several days, and I had to scavenge around for food….”

His dark brow twitched—the only sign of a response she’d seen so far.

“Not in Dumpsters,” she told him, in case his thoughts had gone in that direction. “But there was a little taco shop down the street—Rosarita’s. And sometimes the manager would give me some leftover menudo or a couple of bean burritos. There was also a newsstand that sold coffee and sweet rolls to its customers. The guy who worked on weekends, Harold, would give me day-old donuts for free.”

“I knew a couple of guys like that.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but for some reason she sensed they’d touched upon a commonality.

“Anyway,” she said, “I found this dirty, scraggly dog that afternoon, hanging out at the rear entrance of the Laundromat. It was hard enough finding food for Lori and I to eat, but I couldn’t just let that little guy stay on the street.”

The hint of a smile tugged at Rico’s lips. “I figured you for an animal lover.”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t have any pets now.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Cats and dogs need love and attention, and I’m not home very much. It wouldn’t be fair to them. But I’m sure glad I took Petey back to our apartment that day.”

“Why?”

“Two days later, in the middle of the night, he started barking like crazy and licking my face. And when I woke up, I smelled smoke.”

“Smart dog.”

“Petey was definitely a hero. Thanks to him, I managed to get my sister to safety.”

“Sounds like you were a hero, too.”

His voice had softened, hinting at a tenderness she’d yet to see in him. But she brushed off the hint of sentiment, as well as the compliment, unwilling to take any credit for doing what she’d always done—looking out for herself and her sister. “When the fire department arrived and found Lori and me unsupervised, with no food in the cupboards and the power turned off, they notified the police.”

“I hope they nailed your old man for child neglect.”

“They did. They also found drug paraphernalia all over the place.” In spite of her desire to be objective and informative in revealing the past, tears stung her eyes. She blinked away the emotion the best she could and continued. “Lori and I were taken to the county receiving home that night and got the first hot meal we’d had in ages.”

“Good.”

“Yes, it was. But they wouldn’t let Petey go with us.” She swiped at her eye, catching an escaping tear. “I think he ended up at the pound.”

“At least he was better off there than on the streets.”

“I hope so.” She sucked in a wobbly breath and slowly blew it out. “But I owed that dog something and I’ve always felt as though I let him down.”

“You were a kid. And it was out of your hands.”

“I keep telling myself that, but I still feel badly about leaving that sweet little dog behind.”

“When did all that happen?” he asked.

“Twelve years ago. I was eleven, and Lori was six.” She glanced at the table and swept her hand across the linen, flattening out imaginary wrinkles. “A couple months later the social worker told us that my father had signed the paperwork that released us for adoption.”

Rico didn’t seem unusually sympathetic—or cynical—which actually made it easier to talk, to pour her heart out.

His professional demeanor shouldn’t have surprised her, though. She’d done a little research on the Internet and learned that Garcia and Associates claimed to be both elite and discreet. And the firm had been enormously successful. She doubted a company achieved all that if the owner allowed his emotions to get in the way.

And that was fine with her. She wasn’t looking for sympathy; she was looking for her sister.

“Is that when you and Lori were separated?”

“It happened about six months later. They found a home for Lori, but the couple who adopted her didn’t want two children, especially one who was almost a teenager.”

“What was their name?”

“I don’t know. When I asked the social worker if I could call or send Lori a letter, I was told that it had been a closed adoption. Her new parents thought she would be better off starting fresh, forgetting the past.”

Forgetting me.

Molly’s eyes grew misty again, and she cursed the emotion that welled in her chest. She’d only wanted to relay the facts that would facilitate his investigation.

She’d never been a crybaby before, and for some dumb reason, it mattered what Rico thought of her.

Damn. Rico didn’t know what to think, what to do.

The story Molly had told him made him angry at her parents, angry at the system. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t think of anything to say or do to comfort her.

He’d always been uneasy when women cried, which was a big reason he never let any of his dates or lovers get close enough to lean on him.

Not that he couldn’t sympathize with people.

Hell, he’d had clients that he’d felt sorry for, like good-hearted husbands and wives who’d learned their “loving” spouses had been cheating on them. Or poor Mrs. Chisolm, the grieving widow who’d known nothing about her late husband’s business, then had been bilked by an unscrupulous employee she’d trusted.

But this was different. And it was too close to home.

He handed Molly the linen napkin that had been draped across his lap, hoping she’d wipe away the painful memories, as well as her tears.

“Thank you.” She took the cloth from him, then blotted her eyes and sniffled. “I’m sorry for falling apart.”

“You’re allowed.” He cleared his throat, wishing he could say something comforting, something witty. When nothing came to mind, he clamped his mouth shut.

“Lori is eighteen now,” Molly said. “And no one can stop us from being sisters again. So I need to find her.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, but I don’t expect any favors.” She placed the napkin beside her water glass, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sat up straight. “I’ll pay your fees.”

“We can talk about money later. I’ll do the initial investigation as a courtesy.”

She sniffled again, and he struggled with the urge to reach across the table and take her hand, to offer her more than a napkin.

Before either of them could speak, his cell phone rumbled.

“Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen, saw a local number he didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Honey, it’s me.”

His mom.

He glanced at the two empty place settings. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Daniel’s office. And there’s been another emergency. He’s on call for another dental group this weekend, and I’m afraid we can’t make it to dinner for at least an hour. Please go ahead and order for you and Molly. We’ll pick up some fast food, then meet you back at my house. We can have coffee together. In fact, please save room for dessert. I made some of those fudge brownies you like.”

Rico looked at Molly, wondering again if this was indeed a matchmaking ploy on his mom’s part. But what the hell. They were here now. Just the two of them. And he was starving. “Sure, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

When the line disconnected, he sat back in his seat and looked at his pretty blond companion. “It’s only going to be you and me this evening.”

Molly arched a delicate brow. “Is it my imagination or do you get the idea that your mom is trying to set us up?”

For a moment he stumbled on which direction to take. After all, he knew better than to get involved with any of his mom’s friends or acquaintances, especially since his relationships didn’t last very long and he didn’t want things to get…sticky for anyone involved.

But Molly didn’t seem too head over heels about being with him. And the tone of her voice suggested she was taking this all in stride.

“The same thought crossed my mind,” Rico admitted, “but I figured she’d given up on me a couple of years back. I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Well, I am the marrying kind,” Molly said with a smile. “And your mom knows it. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want to get involved with you. You’re not my type.”

He wasn’t?

Why not?

Not that it mattered. He was just curious, that’s all.

Hell, even if he’d go so far as to have a fling with one of his mom’s friends, things would really get sticky if Molly was expecting white lace and promises while all he wanted from a relationship was sex.

“So,” she said, “I think it’s easier if we let her know there’s no chemistry between us.”

No chemistry?

The hell there wasn’t. He’d seen her look at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, seen her run a nervous tongue across her lips and fiddle with her silverware. He made her nervous, in a sexual way—and he’d lay his last dollar on it.

In spite of having no interest in dating someone like Molly, something tugged at him—chemistry, lust or whatever she wanted to call it.

He didn’t want to be conceited, but most women found him attractive. Very attractive.

And Molly didn’t?

For a moment doubt niggled at his ego.

“So,” she said, skipping right over his bruised pride. “Assuming you’re going to help me find my sister, how long do you think it will take?”

It took him a moment to recover, to jump right back into the conversation they’d been having before his mom called, to ignore the fact Molly might not find him attractive.

Hell, he knew they were total opposites and a breakup ready to happen. But what did that have to do with sex?

Or attraction.

She leaned forward, her breasts straining against the knit fabric of her dress. “You do think we’ll find her, don’t you?”

Who? Her sister. “Yeah, probably. I’ll assign the initial footwork to Cowboy, one of my new associates. He’s already in the Los Angeles area working on another case, so he might be able to uncover something.”

“Cowboy?” she asked.

God, she had pretty eyes. He’d never seen a pair that green before, that expressive.

“Is that his name?” she asked again. “Cowboy?”

“No, it’s just a nickname. He’s from Texas and has one of those slow Southern drawls. But he’s a damn good P.I. and he’ll turn up something.”

The waiter stopped by to take their dinner order. Molly chose the angel-hair pasta, Rico asked for the prime rib.

“Thank you for helping me.” She cast him a smile that made his stomach wobble and his chest thump.

They didn’t talk much after that, just watched the sun set over the lake, listened to the sounds of a baby grand piano playing a romantic concerto in the lounge.

It was hard to ignore the ambience.

Or the beautiful woman seated across from him.

A couple of times, when she looked out the window, he stole a glance at her, studied the way the white-gold strands in her hair glistened in the candlelight.

She turned, caught him staring, and their gazes locked. Something passed between them—that chemistry she said was lacking, he suspected.

He sensed she’d been lying, so why had she said it?

When their meals were served, they each dug into their plates, savoring the taste, the silence—and ignoring the sexual attraction that hovered over the table like a purple elephant with green hummingbird wings.

After they finished eating, the waiter came by to ask if they wanted to see the dessert tray. “The tiramisu is a specialty of the house,” he said.

Rico declined for them both, telling Molly, “My mom wants us to save room for coffee and brownies at her house.”

“All right.”

When the bill arrived, Molly tried to pay, but Rico refused to even consider it—and not because he was too macho to let a woman treat.

It hadn’t started out as a date, but it had kind of evolved into something like that. And even though he’d never take her out again, he wanted to wrap the evening up right.

No need for her to think of him as a jerk. Or as some guy who didn’t know how to treat a lady.

He did.

As they walked out of Antonio’s, Molly gasped and grabbed his forearm, sending a surge of heat through his bloodstream. “I left my purse inside.”

Apparently the woman he suspected would forget where she parked her car at the mall couldn’t keep track of her personal belongings either.

He tossed her a smile. “Wait here. I’ll get it for you.”

“All right. Thanks.”

He returned to their table and found her purse hanging by the shoulder strap on the back of her chair, so he picked it up and carried it back outside.

She stood near a rosebush, gazing at a new moon.

The black fabric of her dress hugged her body in a perfect, sexy fit. He was again struck by that damned “no chemistry” comment she’d made earlier, and his ego took another stumble. In spite of his better judgment, the rebel in him flared to life.

“Hey,” he said as he sauntered toward her, the purse dangling from his hand.

She turned and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the distance between them until they were face-to-face. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You do? Why?”

“I don’t want you lying to my mom.”

“What are you talking about?” Her furrowed brow and the indignant tone of her voice taunted him, tempted him. “I would never lie to her.”

He slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, under the silky curtain of her hair. His thumb caressed the softness along her jaw.

Her eyes widened, yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t push him away. “What are you doing?”

He brushed his lips across hers once, twice.

She sucked in her breath but didn’t move. Didn’t speak, didn’t stop him. Instead she placed a tentative hand on his chest, then slowly gripped the lapel of his jacket—to steady herself, no doubt. Or maybe to draw him closer?

Her lips parted, and he boldly swept his tongue inside, tasting, seeking.

He’d only meant to tease her, to taunt her as she’d been doing to him. But damn. She turned toward him, sliding her arms around his neck, heating up the kiss to a blood-pounding, head-spinning level.

When a car turned in to the parking lot, flashing its headlights at them, Molly finally came to her senses and pulled away. “What in the world was that all about?”

“You’re not my type either,” he told her. “So tell my mother that I’m rude or a cynical jerk. Tell her I’m a die-hard bachelor who never wants to settle down with one woman. That I’m stubborn and cocky and too damn set in my ways.”

She merely stared at him, her lips swollen, a red flush on her cheeks and neck.

“But don’t tell her there’s no chemistry between us,” he added, flashing her a rebel grin.

“Because that, sweet Molly, would a be bold-faced lie.”