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