His Mother's Wedding. Judy Duarte
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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.”