One Mom Too Many Read online

  “That’s perfect! I don’t have any assignments this weekend, either. I have a tentative thing on Friday, but I can probably reschedule it for Monday.”

  He realized they were talking about leaving in less than two days. His blood began to heat at the prospect of all that delicious time alone with Rose. If, in fact, they could be alone. “Does your mother know where this cottage is?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, but we don’t have to worry about her bursting in on us. She’s been there, but I doubt she could find it by herself. Besides, she doesn’t drive. We’d be safe.”

  “She could hire a car.”

  “I suppose, but she’d never be able to direct them to the place, which would embarrass her, so I can’t believe she’d try it. It’s very rural and there’s no address. The owner picks up her mail at the post office in town. Not many people in town know she has the place.”

  He was pretty sure the owner was Rose Kingsford, but he decided not to press her. She was trying to find a way for them to be alone together, and her solution was better than any he could come up with. His apartment wouldn’t work because his mother had a key. He should probably change that, although he didn’t look forward to her tearful reaction, and then she wouldn’t have a haven when she came into the city to go shopping.

  “Well?” Rose asked.

  He’d kept her waiting — again. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Look, if you have doubts, I’ll just hang up and that will be the end of it. I said I wouldn’t blame you, and I won’t.”

  “I’d like to go up to the cottage with you, Rose. I’d like that very much.”

  She gave a relieved little sigh. “Good.”

  “And I’ll drive.”

  “You have a car? I mean, not that you couldn’t afford one,” she amended quickly. “It’s just that lots of people in the city—”

  “I have a car.” He didn’t even want to know what kind she had. “And why don’t I bring some food along, too?”

  “Food?”

  He smiled to himself. “Just in case we find the time to eat.”

  “Oh!”

  He could almost see her cheeks turning the color of her name, and his smile broadened. “Then again, maybe we could just pop a few vitamin pills and save time. I’m not picky.”

  “Well, of course we’ll eat,” she said, sounding out of breath. “But there’s stuff up there, I’m sure.”

  The comment about the food clinched it for him. It was her house, no doubt about it. She’d called it a cottage but it could be a country mansion for all he knew. He kept up the pretense because it allowed him to contribute more to the weekend. “You wouldn’t want to eat your friend’s food supply, would you?”

  “I guess that wouldn’t be a good idea. Sure, bring whatever you like. That’ll be fine.”

  He couldn’t resist. “And whatever I know how to cook?”

  “Hey.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. The devil made me say it. I’ll make sure whatever I bring is a no-brainer.” He paused. “I see no reason to spend lots of time in the kitchen.”

  Another quick intake of breath told him she’d begun to envision where they would spend most of their time. He was envisioning it, too, and his whole body was beginning to hum in anticipation of holding her again. “I’ll pick you up about nine, so we’ll miss the rush-hour traffic.”

  “Sounds great. By the way, I’ll probably make up some story to tell my mother about where I’ll be this weekend, but I travel a lot, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. How about you?”

  “I’ve told my mother to stay out of my business.”

  She hesitated. “I see.”

  “You don’t sound convinced that she will.”

  “I can only judge by my mother, who doesn’t exactly take orders well. But maybe your mother is different. Maybe that authoritarian cop voice had an impact.”

  He laughed. “What authoritarian cop voice?”

  “The one you used when you waded into the wrestling match. If somebody spoke to me in that tone of voice, I’d probably pay attention.”

  “Remind me to try it sometime.”

  “I said probably. I’m also my mother’s daughter.”

  “Which is why we’re sneaking around like this. Okay, in the interests of securing an uninterrupted weekend I’ll tell my mother I’m attending an intensive three-day course on riot control. We have St. Patrick’s Day coming up, so that’s a logical story.”

  “This feels so illicit.”

  “I hope to hell that’s not what’s motivating you, because if it is, then maybe we shouldn’t —”

  “Hey, Daniel, remember how we reacted to each other last night?”

  “Yeah.” He took a shaky breath. “I do.”

  “That’s what’s motivating me. See you Friday morning. I’ll bring your jacket.”

  “As if I’ll be needing it.”

  7

  ON AN IMPULSE, Rose brought along some tapes of Irish folk songs for the drive to her cottage. She’d bought copies for herself and her mother during her recent trip to Ireland, and they’d become her favorite music. To her surprise, Daniel enjoyed them as much as she did, and even knew the words to a few of the more familiar ones.

  “You have a great voice!” she announced after the first song they did together.

  “But it’s a baritone. I was supposed to be an Irish tenor. My grandfather was a tenor and my uncle was a tenor. When my voice changed and it became obvious I wouldn’t be a tenor, my mother went into mourning.”

  Rose laughed. “Tradition is a blessing and a curse, isn’t it?”

  “Especially for the Irish.”

  “Oh, listen. It’s ‘The Titanic.’ I used to sing that at camp when I was a kid.”

  Daniel grinned at her. “Didn’t everybody?”

  They belted out the song about the great ship going down, and followed it with a schmaltzy rendition of “Danny Boy,” while a light snow fell all around them. Traffic was about as heavy as usual on 87 for a Friday, but Daniel drove his Toyota Supra with practiced ease. Rose couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt’so safe and secure.

  They sang “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” and laughed when they stumbled over the words.

  “My mother would kill me for not knowing that one better,” Daniel said when the song ended. “It’s one of her favorites.”

  “One of my mother’s, too.”

  “That figures.” Daniel pulled around a slow-moving truck. “It’s too bad they can’t give up this stupid grudge and be friends. They have so many things in common.”

  “That’s true.” Rose contemplated what would happen if her mother and Maureen O’Malley became friends. Considering that Daniel was Rose’s prime candidate for fathering a child, a chummy relationship between Maureen and Bridget wouldn’t be such a great idea. In some ways the feud contributed to the overall plan. Yet she pictured vividly how a friendship with Maureen could enrich Bridget’s life. An unselfish daughter would foster that friendship, not discourage it for her own reasons. Life became more complicated every minute, thought Rose as she listened to the opening chords of “My Wild Irish Rose” on the tape player.

  She’d opened her mouth to sing along — she certainly knew that one after having her mother sing it to her all the time — but instinct told her to remain silent.

  Daniel glanced at her with a half smile and launched into the song in his rich baritone.

  No man had ever sung to her before, let alone a song that spoke of such tender love. She tried to tell herself that the words meant nothing, that Daniel was simply singing lyrics he knew well because of his Irish upbringing. Her heart was unconvinced by logic. And when he reached over and interlaced his fingers with hers, her heart believed every word.

  By the time he’d finished the song, Rose had lapsed into a dreamy state that hadn’t captured her in a very long time. Snuggled back against the bucket seat, she gazed at Daniel with pleasure. She would have this beautiful man all to he
rself for the next two days.

  “What was that exit again?” he asked.

  Rose jerked out of her trance and looked at a highway sign right at the moment they zoomed beyond the turnoff to her little hideaway. “We, uh, just passed it. I’m sorry, Daniel. There’s another exit in three miles.”

  He grinned. “Hey, don’t apologize. When a woman misses the highway exit because she’s staring adoringly at me, how can I be upset?”

  She bolted to an upright position. “I was not staring adoringly!”

  “Were too. Admit it — that song made you all dewy-eyed .”

  “So the song has some meaning for me. Just because you happened to be the one singing it doesn’t mean that I—”

  “You don’t have to get so defensive.” He winked at her. “I enjoyed the admiration.”

  “Is this my reward for complimenting you on your singing voice? Are you now going to become insufferably vain and think that all you have to do is warble a few notes and I’ll become hypnotized and do whatever you want?”

  “I call ‘em like I see ’em. You looked totally captivated to me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “With an ego that huge, I’m surprised you had room in this car for me and the luggage.”

  Daniel just smiled at her, and when “Peg O’ My Heart” started playing, he sang while giving her soulful looks.

  “You’re impossible!” But she couldn’t help laughing as he continued to clown around for her benefit.

  They turned off at the next exit. As Daniel flicked on the car’s turn signal in preparation for driving beneath the underpass and back onto the highway, Rose spotted a hand-lettered sign nailed to a fencepost about a hundred feet to the right. The Gentle Giants—Irish Wolfhound Puppies For Sale, announced the sign, and an arrow pointed down a country road.

  “Wait.” Rose put a hand on Daniel’s arm. “See that sign?”

  He hunched down and peered out the windshield. “Puppies?”

  “I think we should go look at them.”

  “At puppies?”

  A driver behind them honked his car’s horn in obvious impatience.

  “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Daniel shrugged and flipped on the right-turn signal. “I don’t care about that. I just wonder why you want to go see puppies.” He headed the car down the country road.

  “I’ve wanted an Irish wolfhound for years. And here’s somebody right in my area who raises them.”

  “In your area, you say?”

  She could tell from the penetrating look in those brown eyes of his that he’d guessed the truth. She sighed. “Okay, the cottage belongs to me. But it’s not all paid for,” she added quickly. She didn’t tell him that the renovations were the part still being paid off. She’d paid cash for the original building and land.

  “How big is it?” he asked as they followed another sign that pointed down a narrow lane bordered by a white fence.

  “Small. Very small.” That much was true—three tiny bedrooms, a small kitchen only big enough for a table for two, one bathroom and a cozy living-dining room combination. But the custom thatched roof and leaded-glass windows had cost her a fortune.

  “I guess a small house in the country isn’t quite the same as a villa in the south of France.” He pulled up in front of a two-story farmhouse with a deep red hay barn to the rear of the property. “This must be where your puppy lives.”

  “I’m not getting one right now,” she said. “I just want to make the contact and find out when they’ll have another litter ready to sell.”

  Daniel grabbed his leather jacket and her trench coat from the back seat. “Then we’re not going inside?” he asked, handing her the coat.

  “Of course we’re going inside. I want to see the puppies, even if I’m not getting one today.”

  He reached for the door handle. “I can tell you’re not an experienced puppy shopper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He paused and gazed at her. “If you were, you’d get the information at the front door, then leave.”

  “That’s crazy! Why wouldn’t I want to see what sort of puppies they breed?”

  “Because you’ll leave with one.”

  “I certainly will not. This is a preliminary visit, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you credit me with any willpower?”

  He leaned toward her. “Nobody has any willpower when it comes to puppies.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “We’ll see.” He gave her a quick kiss and climbed out of the car.

  AN HOUR LATER they pulled back onto the highway, a pet carrier in the back seat and a sheepish grin on Rose’s face.

  Daniel didn’t have the heart to rub it in. He’d damn near picked out a puppy himself, although the price tag would have stopped him from doing something that stupid. The breeder had taken them back to the hay barn where ten puppies played happily among the chickens. Although at thirty-five pounds the eight-week-old puppies were big enough to kill a hen, they showed no desire to do that. Daniel had never seen such gentle animals.

  When Rose crouched down, all the puppies had headed for her, but a tan mate had put his front paws on her knee and reached up to give her a kiss on the cheek. Daniel had watched with indulgence and a trace of jealousy as Rose fell in love.

  The breeder had loaned them the pet carrier and given them a few cans of dog food. She’d cautioned them about letting the puppy sleep in their bed tonight.

  “You won’t be able to bear the pitiful crying,” she’d said, “but you’ll start that habit at your peril. This dog will gain a half pound a day and eventually weigh around two-fifty. He’ll own that bed.”

  Daniel was grateful for the tip. No matter how cute the puppy, Daniel didn’t want him in bed with them tonight. He had other plans.

  As if on cue, the little guy began to whimper as the car picked up speed.

  Rose twisted in her seat so she could peer through the wire grate of the carrier. “It’s okay, St. Paddy. You’re going to be fine,” she crooned. “Just fine.”

  St. Paddy stopped whimpering at the sound of her voice. but the minute she stopped talking to him he started up again.

  “Easy, my little love,” she murmured. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

  Daniel was enchanted by her tone of voice as she comforted the puppy. Enchanted and somewhat worried. He wondered how much attention he’d get this weekend, now that St. Paddy was in the picture. Yet, realizing what joy having the puppy gave Rose, he wouldn’t have dreamed of protesting.

  “It was fate that we missed the exit,” Rose said.

  “Then I guess it was my fantastic singing that provided you with this dog.”

  “All right. I’ll confess,” she began, “if you promise to be just as truthful to me.”

  “I’m always truthful.”

  “Okay, it was your singing that...distracted me.”

  “In a good way or a bad way?”

  “A good way. There, there, little Paddy,” she reassured the puppy as he began crying again.

  “That’s what I figured.” Actually he hadn’t been sure. He’d surprised himself, getting all sentimental with that song, but it fit Rose so perfectly that he’d gotten a little carried away. It was nice to know he’d carried her away, too.

  “Now it’s my turn,” she said. “How many women named Rose have you worked that little number on?”

  “None.”

  She murmured a few soothing words to the puppy before turning back to him. “None? An Irish stud like you?”

  He grinned. “If you think you’re going to goad me into admitting something, you’re wrong. I’ve never met anybody else named Rose except Rose Conners, a sweet but very old lady who was the church organist when I was a kid in the choir.”

  “Ha. Rose Conners was probably twenty-five and you seduced her in the choir loft.”

  He took the exit they’d missed before. “Where are you getting this idea that I’m some sort of Don Juan?”

  “You
didn’t kiss me after our first date. You kissed me before our first date. I suppose you’ll tell me that doesn’t happen all the time, either.”

  “Not often.” He decided not to tell her he’d never kissed a woman so soon after meeting her. But the night he came upon Rose standing outside the restaurant she’d looked like some heavenly being temporarily touching down to dazzle earthbound men. The streetlight had transformed the rain falling all around her into a shower of diamonds, and he’d had to kiss her to convince himself that she was real.

  “It happens often enough, I’ll bet. That was a very experienced kind of kiss,” she said. “Okay, turn right at the stop sign and slow down as we go through the town. They put speeders in the stocks around here.”

  “What do you mean by experienced?”

  She smiled. “Worried about your technique, are you?”

  “No, I — oh. hell.” Red and blue lights flashed in the rearview mirror.

  “I warned you.”

  So she had, and he’d been thinking about kissing her and hadn’t paid attention. “This is damned embarrassing.” He pulled off to the side of the road and extracted his wallet from his hip pocket.

  “I think it’s kind of funny, a cop running afoul of the law.”

  “This isn’t running afoul of the law. I was just keeping up with traffic.”

  “What traffic? The road was practically deserted.”

  “Which made it difficult to judge my speed.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” Rose said, grinning.

  Daniel scowled at her before rolling down the window and glancing up at the patrolman approaching the driver’s side of the car.

  The patrolman asked for Daniel’s license and registration, which Daniel handed out the window to him. After glancing at it, the officer started to laugh. “Daniel Patrick O’Malley.”

  Daniel gritted his teeth and gave the officer his most intimidating cop stare. Then his eyes widened as he recognized Tim Bettencourt from his graduating class at the police academy. “Tim?”