Judy Duarte: His Mother's Wedding

“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.