Читать книгу Have Bride, Need Groom - Maureen Child - Страница 9

Two

Jenny’s fingers curled around the windshield wiper as she held on tight. Her right hand was cupped over the front of the car, her fingers digging into the hood latch. Her back was arched over the hump in the hood and her head shook in time with the hot, vibrating engine beneath her.

She stared up at Nick Tarantelli and swallowed heavily. Even though his image wavered with her shaking head, he looked furious. Well, she told herself, this wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her evening, either.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

“Stopping you.”

“way?”

“I have to get married!”

He didn’t answer right away and she chewed at her lip nervously. A thoughtful, almost sympathetic expression crept into his brown eyes. A flare of hope burst into life in Jenny’s chest. Perhaps everything would be all right after all. Maybe the bounty hunter wasn’t completely without a heart. Surely he could see how important this wedding was to her.

Oh, heaven knew Jimmy the Lip wasn’t anyone’s idea of a wonderful husband. But she was out of time and out of options.

Although, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, did a marriage to a bigamist count?

Jenny frowned and pushed the annoying voice aside. A marriage was a marriage. The rules didn’t say it had to be a good marriage.

Nick Tarantelli reached a decision then and walked back to the driver’s side of the car. A moment later the engine stopped and Jenny sighed in relief. She didn’t move, though, reluctant to give up the hold she had on his car until the bounty hunter promised not to drive away with her groom.

Then he was back, staring down at her, and Jenny felt her mouth go dry. Strange, she hadn’t noticed before just what a lovely shade of brown his eyes were. In the chapel they’d simply looked dark. But here, in the uncertain twilight, they looked more the color of fine brandy.

She shook her head and told herself she was being fanciful. It was probably nothing more than the weird desert light playing tricks. Besides, what difference did it make what color his eyes were?

“Why didn’t you say so?” he asked suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“You should have said something about the baby.”

“Baby?”

“Hell, you shouldn’t be crawling onto moving cars,” he said, and reached out to pull her off the hood. “You could get hurt.”

When her feet hit the gravel parking lot, she wobbled uncertainly for a moment. She grabbed his forearms to steady herself, then released him and straightened. He smelled of Old Spice and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

Old Spice. She’d always loved that scent but she hadn’t thought there were any men left who appreciated the old-fashioned cologne. Most men these days were more into buying French fragrances that battled with and usually overpowered ladies’ perfumes.

But the Old Spice seemed to suit Nick Tarantelli. Maybe it was just the brainwashing of those old commercials, but he reminded Jenny of the swashbuckling type of male she’d always associated with that cologne.

Now she was being fanciful, she told herself and dismissed her wayward thoughts.

“You probably shouldn’t be wearing those high heels, either,” Nick told her.

“Why not?” she asked, glancing down at the three-and-a-half-inch heeled sandals she’d bought the week before.

“The baby, of course. Everybody knows pregnant women should wear flats. That way they don’t lose their balance.”

How ridiculous, Jenny thought. As if footwear had anything at all to do with a pregnant woman’s health. Then her brain lurched, stopped and backed up.

Pregnant?

“What baby?” she asked.

“Yours.”

“Mine?” Jenny’s palm slapped against the open V of her neckline. “I’m not going to have a baby!”

“Of course you are.”

“I think I would know if I was pregnant, for heaven’s sake.”

“Then what was all that stuff about you have to get married?”

He loomed over her. Jenny’d never had occasion to use that word before, not even to herself. Yet there was no other way to describe what the tall, angry-looking bounty hunter was doing. But then, she decided, he probably couldn’t help looming. He was awfully tall.

She tilted her head back slightly in response, but didn’t lower her gaze one fraction. “I said I had to get married. I didn’t say it was because of a baby.”

“Well, why else?”

“Because of my grandmother.”

One second passed, then two, then three. Jenny waited.

Nick threw his hands high in the air in mock surrender. “Forget it, lady, I don’t want to know.”

“But you have to listen,” she said, and followed him as he started for the car door again.

“No, I don’t. And don’t try crawling back up on the damned car. This time, I might just take off anyway.”

Hurrying in those heels was a mistake. Jenny realized it just before her foot caught in a hole and she pitched forward to land on the hot, dirty asphalt. She managed to break her fall with her hands instead of her face, but sharp, stinging pains stabbed at her knees and palms.

“Oh, for...”

She felt rather than saw him move. Then his hands were at her waist and he was lifting her up from the parking lot and setting her on her feet again. He didn’t release her immediately and Jenny deliberately ignored the warmth soaking into her body from the press of his fingertips at her waist.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” She took a step back from him, glanced down at her knees and groaned. Through the torn, black, diamond-patterned stockings, she saw that her flesh was scraped raw and bloody. Bits of gravel clung to her knees and the palms of her hands looked no better.

Before she knew it a sheen of tears had welled up in her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to keep them at bay. Nothing was going right. Absolutely nothing. And it was all her own fault.

Nick sighed and asked, “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have one,” she answered, rubbing the back of her hand across the tip of her nose.

“Perfect.” He paused, then asked, “Where are you staying? I’ll get you a cab.”

“I don’t want a cab. I want to get married.” Her knees were beginning to throb and the palms of her hands felt as though she’d taken a cheese grater to them.

“Your groom has other plans,” he answered. “What hotel are you in?”

She sniffed, bent over and plucked at her ruined stockings, pulling them away from her battered knees. “Sinbad’s.”

“Jeez!”

Jenny straightened abruptly. “What is it now?”

“You want to marry Jimmy Baldini and you’re staying at Sinbad’s?” He shook his head slowly. “Lady, you’re asking for trouble.” Grabbing her elbow firmly, he dragged her to the rear door on the driver’s side, muttering to himself with every step. “I ought to just let you go on back to that dive. Take your chances. None of my business where you stay-Hell, I don’t even know you!”

Jenny winced as pain stabbed at her knees.

“But then I’d probably see you on the news tonight,” he went on, still talking to himself. “‘Tourist with scraped knees murdered in her bed at Sinbad’s Sin Shop.’ Nope. Can’t let you do it.” Nick shrugged. “Guilt would keep me awake all night and I already told you—I’m tired.”

Yanking at the latch, he pulled the door open and gestured for her to get into the back seat.

“Sinbad’s Sin Shop?” Jenny asked, standing her ground, however wobbly it felt.

“Worst place in Vegas,” he told her solemnly.

“It looked perfectly respectable to me this morning.”

“Sure it did. Cockroaches come out at night.” He jerked his head toward the car. “Just look at ol’ Jimmy here.”

“Hey!” A clearly insulted, disembodied voice floated out to them.

“You shut up,” Nick snapped.

Jenny looked up at him and watched as the desert wind ruffled his dark hair. In his U.N.L.V. T-shirt, blue jeans and battered cowboy boots, he looked completely at ease.

A sharp stab of envy sliced through her as she realized that she’d never once felt that comfortable in her surroundings.

Maybe, she told herself, she should simply give up on the wedding. At least for tonight A quick glance at her still-bleeding knees reminded her that things didn’t seem to be going her way at the moment.

Still, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Would you be any safer getting into a car with a total stranger?

Humph! Only half an hour ago, she was going to marry a total stranger. And Nick Tarantelli certainly looked more trustworthy than Jimmy the Lip Baldini!

“Well?” he said impatiently. “Are you going to get in? Or would you prefer to ride on the hood?”

“Shouldn’t your prisoner be in the back seat?”

“I was here first,” Jimmy reminded her hotly.

“Nah,” Nick said, ignoring the other man. “He’s harmless. Besides, I want him where I can reach out and grab him if he decides to make a run for it.”

“I never run,” the prisoner snapped.

She held on to the car door tightly. “Where are you taking me?”

A soft glimmer in his eyes told her that he understood her hesitation.

“Don’t worry, Jenny Blake,” he said, a smile briefly touching his face. “I’m taking you to the best volunteer nurse in Las Vegas.”

“A nurse?”

“Are you hungry?” he asked as Jenny slid into the back seat. “She’s a helluva cook, too.”

After dropping Jenny’s erstwhile groom off at the local police station, Nick steered his car back onto the crowded “Strip.” In the bumper-to-bumper traffic, they were forced to move slowly, which gave Jenny plenty of time to take in the sights. As twilight deepened into night, the casinos lining the street seemed to leap into life. In daylight they were nothing more than ignominious buildings crouched behind busy sidewalks. But at night their neon souls exploded into the darkness, banishing shadows and lighting up the sky like some electrified rainbow.

Jenny stared openmouthed through the car windows at the throngs of people crowding the sidewalks. As the traffic shifted and moved, she caught her breath several times as pedestrians bailed off the curb without so much as a glance at the oncoming cars. Coin cups clutched in their fingers, their gazes locked on the next casino, they crossed the street, darting between cars and trusting luck to see them safely to the other side.

Shaking her head, Jenny tried to ignore the people and concentrate instead on the incredible casino hotels they passed. From Caesar’s Rome to a man-made volcano to a pirate ship complete with firing cannons, Las Vegas was a living, breathing amusement park for grown-ups.

“First time in Vegas?”

Jenny’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know?”

He laughed quietly. “A wild guess.”

A few minutes later Nick turned the car off the main road onto a darker, quieter side street. Here the businesses were well lit but without all the garish displays the big casinos boasted.

When he pulled into a driveway, Jenny stared at the huge, two-storied structure in front of them. Designed to look like an old Victorian mansion, the restaurant’s parking lot was nearly full. But it wasn’t the beauty of the place that caught her attention. It was the simple white sign hanging over the latticework archway leading to the front door. The sign read Tarantelli’s Terrace.

She shot Nick a quick look. “Yours?”

He shook his head. “The family’s.” Then he pulled into a parking slot near the back of the building and helped her out.

Nick took her around to the rear entrance of the restaurant, his hand firmly clutching her elbow. Even with his assistance, Jenny had to pick her way carefully across the pebble-strewn drive. It was the last time, she promised herself, that she would wear three-and-a-half-inch heels to her wedding.

When Nick pulled open the kitchen door, waves of delicious aromas escaped the hot room and wafted around Jenny, teasing her stomach into low rumbles of appreciation. And the moment she stepped inside Tarantelli’s Terrace, she identified the mystery scent that seemed to cling to Nick. It was the delicate blend of Italian spices that flavored the air in his family’s restaurant.

“Just because it’s Italian doesn’t mean it has to stink of garlic!” A female voice rose above the clatter of pots and pans.

Beside her, Jenny heard Nick chuckle.

“I am the chef here, madam.” The imperious male voice was easy to locate. Jenny found him in seconds. A tall man with a barrel chest, a truck tire stomach and a high, white chefs hat, was waving a wooden spoon at a much shorter woman.

“But you’re using my recipes,” the woman retorted. Her black hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled away from her face into a tight knot at the base of her neck. Her huge brown eyes seemed to take up most of her face and despite her battle stance, the lines etched into her features spoke more of laughter than of temper.

What seemed like dozens of kitchen workers bustled around the two combatants, paying no attention at all to their argument. Jenny jumped out of someone’s way and slammed into Nick’s broad chest. He lifted his hands to her shoulders to steady her.

“Hey, Ma!” he shouted above the noise. Jenny watched the woman turn away from the chef quickly. A wide, brilliant smile flashed briefly across her features.

“Nicky!”

Jenny slanted a quick look up at him, expecting to see a wince of embarrassment. Instead, all she saw was an answering grin. She blinked at the transformation. With that smile in place, Nick Tarantelli was handsome enough to steal a woman’s breath away.

“No garlic,” the woman shouted at the chef, then scurried away without giving the tall man a chance to argue further. Hurrying to them, the slightly round woman clapped her hands, then reached up to cup her son’s face. “Nicky! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Hi, Ma,” he whispered, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Marianna Tarantelli, this is Jenny Blake and she—”

“Call me Mama,” Marianna interrupted with a smile. “Everybody does. What happened?” She broke away from her son and let her gaze sweep over Jenny.

“I fell.” Jenny shrugged helplessly.

“Oh.” Mama clucked her tongue sympathetically. “How did that happen?” A fierce look crossed her face briefly. “Somebody push you?”

“No.” Jenny sighed. “Actually, I was chasing your son.”

The older woman spun around and poked Nick in the chest with her forefinger. “What are you doin’, making a sweet girl like this chase you?”

“I didn’t tell her to chase me.” Nick held both hands up in mock surrender. “Besides, how do you know she’s a sweet girl?”

“Humph!” Mama sneered at him and turned back to Jenny. Cupping the younger woman’s chin in one hand, she said, “I see it in her eyes. You can’t see that, Nicky?”

Jenny looked up at him and saw the stubborn frown on his face before she lowered her gaze again.

“So!” Mama commanded, letting go of Jenny’s chin only to grab hold of her elbow. “You come with Mama, now, young lady. I got just the thing to take care of you. And you can tell me all about what my son did while I fix your knees, okay?” As she began to drag her away, the older woman called over her shoulder, “Nicky! Go upstairs and get some of your sister’s things for Jenny to wear. They look about the same size.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jenny said quickly.

“Sure it’s necessary,” Mama argued, patting her hand. “You can’t wear a torn-up dress and holey stockings all night.”

Jenny only had time for a quick look back over her shoulder. But Nick wasn’t standing by the door anymore. He’d already hustled off to follow his mother’s instructions. Jenny knew just how he felt. She’d only known Mama Tarantelli a matter of moments, but she couldn’t imagine anyone ignoring one of the older woman’s commands.

Nick didn’t waste time in Gina’s room. No matter what his mother said, he wasn’t about to go rooting through his younger sister’s closet. Besides, from what he’d seen of Jenny Blake’s figure, Gina’s clothes would be too small up top and too big on the bottom-His mother must be blind, he told himself as he snatched Gina’s bathrobe from the hook on the back of her bedroom door.

As he walked down the long hall of the family living quarters toward the stairs that led to the restaurant, Nick wondered if he’d done the right thing, bringing Jenny to his mother. Sure he had, he told himself. His mother had taken care of more strays than Mother Teresa. Besides, he hadn’t had a lot of time to come up with an alternate plan.

Nick’s boot heels thumped against the worn carpet runner and he clutched the bathrobe tightly in one fist. He couldn’t very well have taken her to her room at Sinbad’s, could he? Lord, just thinking about her in that short, tight dress, with her wide, innocent eyes, strolling through the parking lot at Sinbad’s gave him cold chills.

How in the bell had she managed to find the one hotel in the whole city of Vegas that had more human slugs per square inch than anywhere else in the world? Instinct? Nick shuddered. She had been about to marry Jimmy, after all.

And what was all that nonsense about having to get married? He stopped short at the top of the stairs and told himself to forget about the odd sense of relief he’d felt when she’d admitted she wasn’t pregnant. Why the devil did he care if she was expecting or not? Hell, he didn’t even know her!

Grumbling under his breath, he started down the stairs, still clutching the bathrobe. Something told him that he’d be a lot better off if he didn’t get to know her, either. All he wanted now was to have dinner, go back to his own place, and leave Jenny Blake in his mother’s capable hands.

“So you have to be married by when?”

Jenny’s breath hissed from between her teeth as Mama Tarantelli dabbed iodine on the raw flesh of her knees. “Four days,” she said finally.

“Hmm.” Mama held a cotton ball against the open top of the iodine bottle and tipped it. When she was finished, she reached for Jenny’s other knee. Dabbing the dark brown liquid onto the scrapes, she said, “And you say Nicky arrested your young man?”

Jenny’s fingers curled around the lip of the bathroom sink she was perched on and she winced as the iodine met her flesh. Of course it wasn’t really accurate to say that Jimmy Baldini was her “young man.” But Nick certainly had arrested him.

“Yes.”

“A nice girl like you shouldn’t be marrying men who are getting arrested.” Mama shook her head slowly as she straightened and reached for one of Jenny’s hands.

“I didn’t know he was a bigamist,” Jenny said in her own defense. “In fact, I didn’t know him at all.”

“Then why in hell were you about to marry him?” a male voice asked.

Jenny turned and saw Nick leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over the robe pressed to his broad chest.

“As I was just telling your mother,” she started to explain, then jerked her hand instinctively back from a splash of iodine. But Mama was as strong as she looked and didn’t release her. “I’ve run out of time. I have to be married and I only have four days to do it in.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked even as he told himself silently to butt the hell out.

“If I’m not married in four days—” Jenny’s gaze met his and he saw the shimmer of tears clouding her deep blue eyes “—my grandmother will die.”