One Mom Too Many

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She moaned softly.

  He steeled himself not to return to lips blushing from his enthusiastic kisses. Reluctantly he removed his hand from her breast. “Rose, something’s burning.”

  Her eyelids lifted, revealing green eyes sultry with desire.

  One look into those eyes and he became as unconcerned as Nero when Rome was torched. “Never mind,” he said as he lowered his head again.

  Her nose wrinkled. “Something is burning!” She wiggled out of his embrace and rushed from the room.

  He followed as best he could, considering his jeans had become way too tight in the past ten minutes.

  Rose stood coughing in front of an open oven door, and the kitchen was enveloped in smoke. “It’s our dinner!” she wailed, pulling on oven mitts before hauling out a smoking roaster and banging it onto the top of the stove. “It’s ruined.”

  He took refuge in the timeworn male response to this sort of disaster. “We’ll go out.”

  “I don’t want to go out. I want to fix you a nice, home-cooked meal!” She lifted the roaster lid and more smoke billowed out. “Look at this! It’s — it’s —” She peered into the roaster and her eyes widened. “It’s sparking.”

  “Sparkling?” Daniel had witnessed a few kitchen disasters in his time, but none of them had sparkled. He stepped forward and surveyed the charred mess in the pan. Sure enough, sprinkled throughout the glop were tiny stars that winked in the kitchen’s overhead light. He glanced at Rose in confusion.

  “I’m not even going to tell you.” She slammed the lid back on the roaster.

  He chuckled and grabbed her by the arms. “What do you mean, you’re not going to tell me? I deserve to know why there are stars in the stew.”

  She blushed and averted her gaze. “I doubt it would have affected the taste.”

  “What wouldn’t?”

  “My Dark Seduction panty hose.”

  He couldn’t stop the laughter that rolled out. “You put panty hose in our dinner? Where’d you get the recipe, from an episode of ‘The Addams Family’?”

  She twisted out of his grip. “Go ahead and make fun of me. I told you I’m not a very good cook, but at least I tried.”

  He composed himself with difficulty. “I can see that. I apologize for laughing. But if you don’t explain what the panty hose were doing in that stew, I’ll go crazy trying to imagine what your reasoning was. Have some pity on me, Rose.”

  “You have to promise not to laugh if I tell you.”

  “I promise.”

  “I used the panty hose to hold the spices.”

  “The spices?” His lips twitched. “You must have used a bay leaf the size of a Buick.”

  “Daniel! You promised!”

  “Right.” He pressed his lips together and looked up at the ceiling. “I take it your panty hose had little stars on them.”

  “I didn’t think they’d come off.”

  “Of course not.” He looked at her, his eyes brimming with the effort not to laugh. He’d never seen anything so cute in his life. Here was one of New York’s top models, a talented cartoonist, an astute businesswoman, a passionate lover...and clueless in the kitchen. Yet she’d attempted to cook him what appeared to have once been an Irish stew. She flattered him more than she knew.

  She took off her oven mitts and tossed them on the counter. “Well, I’ve certainly botched everything, haven’t I?”

  “Not at all.” He closed the distance between them and drew her back into his arms. “This is turning out to be one terrific night.”

  She gazed up at him. “Daniel, be serious.”

  “I’m absolutely serious.”

  “You can’t be. I was covered in flour when you arrived. I mashed your bouquet, spilled wine on your boots, put spangles in your stew and then laminated it to the bottom of the pan.”

  “All because you, a woman of many talents, a woman with a fair measure of fame and a considerable measure of beauty, tried to impress an average guy like me. You want to know how that makes me feel, Rose? That makes me feel pretty special.”

  The frown slowly disappeared from her face. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Gradually the spark returned to her eyes and the corners of her mouth tipped up into an endearing smile. “It’s all pretty funny, when you think of it.”

  “You won’t hear that from me.”

  She chuckled. “It’s okay. I’m beginning to see the humor in it.” She gave him an impish look. “Seems like dinner’s ruined.”

  “Yep.”

  “And that is what I invited you up here for.”

  He guided her hips until they brushed against his. “Is it?”

  Her eyes grew sultry again. “Maybe not entirely.”

  “Then let me be brutally honest. I don’t give a damn about eating dinner. It wasn’t your home-cooked dinner I was looking forward to when I walked in your front door.”

  She wound her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.” His voice had a raw edge, brought on by the press of her body against his. Nobody could lean quite so sensuously as Rose, he decided.

  “Well, I certainly want to be a good hostess.” Her seductive glance fired his blood.

  Maybe she’d practiced that look a million times for the camera, but that didn’t mute its effect on him. With a groan he took possession of her saucy mouth.

  She kissed him back, even as she began maneuvering them out of the kitchen. Kissing and caressing each other as they went, they made their way through the living room. She kicked off her shoes; he stripped off his belt. By the time they reached her bedroom door, he had both hands on the hem of her shirt, ready to pull it over her head.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Ignore it,” she said breathlessly as she raised her arms over her head.

  “Thank God for a secure building.” He pulled off her shirt and tossed it aside as the buzzer sounded again.

  Then the phone rang.

  “The machine will get it,” she said, pulling him into the bedroom.

  “Thank God for machines. Ah, Rose,” he murmured. “You’re like a piece of fine sculpture.”

  “Sculpture for you to mold,” she said, gliding into his arms as the answering machine beeped and prepared to accept a message.

  “Miss Kingsford, I think you’d better get down here,” said a male voice.

  Daniel paused and looked at Rose, who had gone completely still.

  “Your mother is wrestling in the lobby with a woman called Maureen,” Jimmy said distinctly.

  “OH, MY GOD.” Rose looked around frantically for her shirt. She scooped it off the floor and pulled it over her head as she started for the apartment door.

  “Rose?” Daniel seemed a little dazed.

  “Put your belt on and come with me,” she said, tucking her shirt into her jeans. “And button your shirt.”

  “You don’t have any shoes-on.”

  “Oh.” She glanced down at her feet, then ran to find her shoes. After shoving her feet into them, she grabbed her keys from the table by the door and took hold of the doorknob. “Coming?” she said, looking back at Daniel.

  He finished buckling his belt and started forward. “Why do I have the feeling you know what this is all about?”

  “I’ll tell you in the elevator. There’s no time to waste. My mother works out in a gym, and she could do your mother serious damage.” .

  “My mother?” He hurried after her. “What makes you think the Maureen wrestling with your mother downstairs is my Maureen?”

  She slammed her hand against the elevator button. “Move, you geriatric machine!” Then she turned to him. “I was hoping none of this would have anything to do with us, but it seems your mother and mine knew each other back in Ireland.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re not going to tell me that your mother is Bridget Mary Hogan. I refuse to believe that.”

  “Maybe the battling colleens in the
lobby will convince you. Where is that blasted elevator? We should have taken the stairs. We —”

  “Bridget Mary Hogan, the two-faced piece of baggage who cheated Maureen Fiona Keegan out of the Rose of Tralee crown?”

  Rose glared at him. “Watch your language or I’ll be forced to mention that Maureen Fiona Keegan was the gossip-mongering, sheep-faced ne’er-do-well who cheated Bridget Mary Hogan out of the Rose of Tralee crown.” The elevator arrived and she stepped inside, but when she turned around Daniel was still rooted to the spot.

  . “No. This isn’t happening,” he said in a disbelieving tone. “Any minute I’m going to wake up.”

  “You’d better wake up now and get in this blasted elevator,” she said. “I’ll need your muscles downstairs.”

  He followed her into the elevator. “But Bridget Hogan is dead! My mother said she threw herself off the Cliffs of Moher in agony over what she’d done.”

  “Yeah, well, your mother was supposed to have jumped in front of a speeding train, according to my mother.”

  “Good God.” He gazed at her as if he still couldn’t comprehend the truth.

  “Please button your shirt, Daniel. My mother likes to kid herself that I’m still a virgin.”

  He complied, but his movements were the jerky motions of a robot. “What else don’t I know?”

  That I want you to father my child, Rose thought. Now wasn’t a very propitious moment to bring that up, however. “My mother was hiding behind the planter in the tearoom when you and I first met. She was the one who insisted I go to the rendezvous with your mother. She wanted to discover how Maureen turned out.”

  Daniel groaned. “Did my mother know whose daughter you were?”

  “No.” Rose took a deep breath as the elevator clunked to a stop. “But I suspect she does now.”

  The elevator doors slid back like the curtains on a stage play. A violent stage play, Rose amended to herself. Maureen and Bridget rolled on the floor, screeching unintelligible things to each other. The match seemed to be more equal than Rose had expected. Her mother had agility, but Maureen had heft on her side, although she was hampered by the dress she wore, while Bridget’s pantsuit allowed more freedom of movement.

  Jimmy circled them like a referee. Every once in a while he’d dart in and make a tentative effort to stop the fighting, but he was obviously intimidated by the thought of accidentally grabbing some part of middle-aged female anatomy he was too well brought up to touch. One wing chair had been upset and the artificial-flower display was smashed into a million pieces on the floor.

  Rose heard Daniel’s horrified gasp, but he apparently had command of himself almost immediately.

  “I’ll get them apart,” he said. “Then we’ll each take our own. Get the kid to help you if you can’t hold your mother yourself.”

  “Got it.” Rose watched in admiration as Daniel waded into the fray. She winced as Bridget’s foot connected with his stomach. If the kick had been a little lower, he might have been rendered out of action.

  “Okay, ladies,” he said in a voice that rang with authority. “Let’s break it up now, shall we?”

  “It’s my Daniel!” screeched Maureen. “Daniel, get this madwoman off me!”

  “I think technically you’re on top of her.” He pulled both women to their feet and wedged his body between them. “Rose? Jimmy? Can I get a hand, here?”

  Rose bolted forward and clutched her mother’s arm. “Come over here, Mom.” She tugged, but Bridget planted both feet. She was stronger than Rose had expected.

  “Maureen Fiona, you’re no better than a pimp!” she shouted across Daniel.

  “Hah!” Maureen shouted back. “I’d rather see my Daniel marry a duck in Central Park than any daughter of yours, Bridget Mary!”

  “Okay, ladies, let’s each go to our respective corners,” Daniel said, putting both arms around his mother and maneuvering her a few feet away.

  Rose felt her mother wriggling out of her grasp. “Jimmy, could you help me?”

  Jimmy approached nervously. “Excuse me; Mrs. Kingsford,” he said apologetically as he put a hammerlock on her neck.

  “Very good, Jimmy,” Rose said.

  “He’s choking the life out of me!” Bridget yelped.

  “What a lovely idea,” Rose muttered in her mother’s ear. “What in hell are you doing here?”

  “Don’t you dare accuse me of wrongdoing, young lady! There’s razor burn on your cheek!”

  Rose struggled not to feel like a teenager caught coming home late from a torrid date with her steady. She lowered her voice. “I’m thirty years old, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Old enough to know better than to fool around with the likes of Maureen Keegan’s son!”

  “I heard that!” shouted Maureen from across the room. “Nobody insults my Daniel. I’ll —”

  “Not now, Mom,” Daniel said. “Rose, I think we need a couple of cabs.”

  “I’ll call,” Rose offered. She marveled at his even tone of voice. She glanced across the room where he held his disheveled mother in a bear hug. When he was alone with his mother he’d probably chew her up one side and down the other, as Rose planned to do with her own mother. At the moment, however, he was reacting like a perfectly trained cop. Rose admired his self-possession.

  Rose glanced at Jimmy. “Got her?”

  “I’ve got her,” Jimmy said, looking very determined. “Miss Kingsford, I don’t know what the owners are going to say about this mess.”

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy. I’ll testify that it wasn’t your fault that things got out of hand.” She walked to the phone and dialed the number for the cab company she used. “My mother will pay for the damage.”

  “Me?” Bridget shrieked. “What about herself over there? None of this would have happened if she hadn’t spread those terrible lies about me to the contest judges!”

  Rose covered the ear that wasn’t against the phone and ordered two cabs.

  “You deliberately burned my face, you did!” Maureen tried to struggle out of Daniel’s grip. “Daniel, are you going to let her speak to your mother like that?”

  “Actually, I’m tempted to let you go and then call for the SWAT team,” Daniel said.

  Rose caught the barely leashed anger in his words. “Cabs are on the way,” she said.

  “Good. I think we’ll wait outside.”

  “But ’tis raining cats and dogs out there,” his mother protested.

  “Sounds perfect. I’d also contemplated turning a fire hose on both of you.”

  “Daniel, your jacket,” Rose said, realizing it was still up in her apartment.

  “I’ll get it later.” With one brief glance at Rose, Daniel escorted his mother out the revolving door.

  Rose took some comfort from his last remark, but not much. Retrieving his jacket at some future date wasn’t exactly the same as continuing a relationship. She couldn’t imagine he’d want that now. After all, the idea had been for them to enjoy an uncomplicated, sexy time together. This was turning out to be unbelievably complicated.

  “She’s gone. You can turn me loose, Jimmy,” Bridget said.

  “Don’t you do it, Jimmy.” Rose faced the source of all her troubles with renewed anger. “What were you doing here, spying on me?”

  Even with a rip in the sleeve of her London Fog raincoat, a big black smudge on the knee of her designer slacks, and wildly tangled hair—and despite the fact that Jimmy held her in an uncompromising hammerlock—Bridget managed to look haughty. “I was merely checking to see if you were home. I’d just managed to get some tickets to a concert at the Kennedy Center, the tribute to that jazz musician you like, and I wanted to tell you right away. I was in the neighborhood, so naturally—”

  “Bull.”

  “Rose, your language is shocking.”

  “I’m using restraint, Mom. Believe me, I could come up with several expressions that are a lot more crude, and they all apply.”

  “Looks like the cabs are outsid
e, Miss Kingsford,” Jimmy said, his voice charged with relief.

  “Tell me when one has left with Daniel and his mother in it.”

  “He’s shoving her—uh, I mean helping her into one now. There it goes.”

  “Okay. Mom, if Jimmy lets you go, do you promise to walk with me out to the cab?”

  “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Rose Erin Kingsford. Your grandmother would turn over in her—”

  “No doubt Granny’s spinning like a top in her grave,” Rose said. “And I’m not taking any of the credit for it, either. You’re the one who was brawling in the lobby of the apartment building. Now do you promise to get in the cab with me?”

  “I promise.”

  Rose nodded to Jimmy and he relaxed his hammerlock and stepped back.

  Bridget brushed at her clothes and patted her tangled hair. It looked as if Maureen had wound her fingers through it several times. “You don’t need to ride in the cab, Rose,” Bridget said as she started toward the door. “I’ll go straight home.”

  “I think I’ll just tag along, anyway.” Rose fell into step beside her. “We have a few things to straighten out.”

  “You don’t have a coat.”

  “As hot under the collar as I am at the moment, I don’t need one, Mom. Let’s just go.”

  “Take mine.” Bridget started to pull off her London Fog.

  “No, thanks.” Rose helped her mother back on with the coat as she guided her toward the door. “I’m furious with you, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if you caught a chill.”

  “What you’re going to give me is a heart attack.”

  “Nonsense.” The cold, wet air felt great as they walked outside and Rose took a deep breath. “Your heart is fine. Anybody who can wrestle Maureen Keegan to the ground is in pretty good shape, if you ask me.”

  Her mother stooped to climb into the back seat of the cab. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “I would have had her begging for mercy in another five minutes.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “I’ve decided you must be related to Hulk Hogan. I’m signing you up for the World Wrestling Federation Championships tomorrow.” As she climbed in the cab she heard the strangest snorting sounds coming from her mother. Finally she figured out what it was. Her mother was trying to control an uncontrollable belly laugh. Rose leaned her head against the cracked upholstery and sighed. “Go ahead, Mom. Let it out.”