Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Tommy puckered his bottom lip and sent Cinda a silent, wide-eyed thank-you.

  “Oh, baby,” Bobby Jean cooed, at her husband. “You never told me that name. I like it better. Tommy. It’s much nicer, you know. It sounds like the name of someone I could cuddle up to at night.”

  Tommy puffed up like the big man he so badly wanted to be, turned to his wife, and blurted, “You’re pregnant, honey. Your test results came back. And that’s why you’ve been feeling bad. We’re going to have a baby.”

  The crowd sent up a collective and happy gasp. The facts made the rounds in loud whispers. “She’s going to have a baby.” “The Mafia don got her pregnant.” “Who got her pregnant?” “Don somebody.” “Who’s pregnant?”

  Bobby Jean’s expression was pretty much the shocked one she’d worn when Cinda had smacked her last night. “What? Rocco—I mean Tommy—a baby? We’re going to have a baby?” She let go of her husband and began squealing and jumping up and down in place. Her tube top had a tough time keeping up. “We’ve got to go tell Mama and Daddy. Right now. We’re going to have a baby! Omigod! A baby!”

  Then she set her sights on Cinda. “Oh, sugar, I’m going to have a baby. I’m so happy. I can’t believe it. And here you are—darned near family since you knew my Tommy when he was a boy. Look, I’ll call you. You’ve already had a baby, so you can tell me what all to expect, okay?”

  Cinda couldn’t believe it. Good God, we’re girlfriends. “But what about the lawsuit?” was all she could get out.

  Bobby Jean waved that away. “Oh, shoot, honey, I was just kidding y’all. I already forgot about that. Now, I’m going to need to know everything from you, okay? Like about breast-feeding and such. We’ll get together.” She then turned to Trey and, to everyone’s surprise, looked suddenly shy. She fiddled with her fingers as she talked. “Trey, I’ve been awful to you. I’m sorry. You’re such a good friend to me. I think…well, I’ll always love you. But like a friend.”

  Cinda realized she was actually moved. Someone took her hand. It was Dorinda Cooper. “I told you she was a good girl at heart.”

  Cinda nodded and smiled, believing anything today. She listened as Trey said, “I love you, too, Bobby Jean. And congratulations, honey.” He hugged her.

  Everyone sighed and aahed. Then Bobby Jean grabbed her husband again by the hand and took off for the house. “Come on, baby. Wait until I tell Mama and Daddy they’re going to be grandparents of a future Mafia don.”

  Though he looked a little sick at that, Tommy/ Rocco asked plaintively, “Then we aren’t separated anymore?”

  “Of course not, doll. What made you think we were separated?”

  The four goons closed ranks around Bobby Jean and her hapless but adoring husband and blocked them from sight. The happy crowd was pleased to follow after them, apparently wanting to see firsthand the elder Nickersons’ response to the joyous news. That left Cinda and Trey and Dorinda and Chelsi standing there alone.

  “Well, that’s it,” Dorinda declared. “Let’s go see about that pecan pie. It ought to be done by the time we get home.”

  So that was it. Cinda couldn’t believe it. It was over. She looked up at Trey. Ever handsome, the poor man looked shell-shocked. “Are you all right, Trey?”

  “I think so,” he said, taking Chelsi from his mother and holding her as the foursome headed back toward Trey’s car.

  “So you really knew him in high school?” Trey asked Cinda as he put his arm around her shoulder.

  “Yeah. I thought I recognized him when he came outside, but I wasn’t sure. I would have hated to be wrong.”

  “I guess. Damn. That ended with a fizzle, didn’t it?”

  “Not really,” Cinda said. “I’m happy for Bobby Jean and Tommy. Or Rocco. What a name. That crazy guy. He said he put on that big show to impress Bobby Jean when he met her. And then, when she fell for it, he had to keep it up. But I’m telling you, she’s not the worst of Tommy’s problems. His father is going to kill him.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you said. What’s his father do that he needs those guys and that black limo?”

  “Oh, he’s in the Mafia.”

  Trey stopped. Cinda looked up at him. “What?”

  “His father is in the Mafia? The man’s name is Jenkins and he’s Mafia?”

  Cinda gently reproved Trey. “The Mafia’s equal opportunity, honey. Anybody can join. You don’t have to be Italian. I guess I was just around it more than you, so I understand it better. A lot of the kids in high school’s dads’ were reportedly mobsters.”

  “Child, where’d you go to high school that so many Mafia children were running around loose?” Dorinda chimed in.

  “A private one in New York City. Tommy and I were in the same class.”

  They started walking again toward the red muscle machine that was Trey’s car. “Then you’re really a Yankee?” Dorinda asked a few steps later.

  “Afraid so,” Cinda had to tell her.

  “Well, what do you know. My son married a Yankee.” Dorinda didn’t sound happy, just resigned. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  “Take heart, Mother. We’re not really married.”

  “You are so.”

  “We’re not, Dorinda. But we will be,” Cinda boldly announced, feeling her face—and her heart—warming up as she stared into Trey’s eyes.

  “We will?” Trey made the mistake of asking. “I mean…we will. We will.”

  “Yes, we will. We have to be. And soon, too.”

  Trey frowned at her. “I’m not following. I love you and want to marry you. Damn. It’s true. I do. But…what are you talking about?”

  Cinda smiled broadly. “My high-school reunion is next month.”

  Trey stopped them again. “No. Sorry. Only today I made a promise to myself that I was never going to another reunion ever again.”

  Undaunted, happier than she’d been in a long, long time, Cinda shrugged. “Well, you’ll have to break it. Because we’re going. I already sent in my RSVP.”

  Cinda watched as Trey tried to look displeased, but he couldn’t. There was too much love radiating her way from his blue eyes. He chuckled happily and kissed Chelsi on her sweet chubby baby cheek. “You hear that, gal? We’re going to New York for a reunion. Yippee. I’ll show you where your mama and I met and where you were almost born.”

  So it was settled. They headed again for the car, in no real hurry. They hadn’t gone more than ten steps before Trey broke the silence. “I have to break more than one promise to myself today, I suppose.”

  “Really? What promise is that?” Cinda put her arm around his waist, walking easily at his side even though her heart was doing ecstatic loops of sheer joy just knowing that Trey was going to be a real part of her life.

  “Well, I promised myself years ago that I’d never marry while I was working on the race car circuit. Too many problems. I see it all the time. The travel. The hours. The divorces. It’s rough, Cinda. I want you to know that.”

  “I understand, Trey. I wouldn’t ask you to give up something so important to you.”

  “I appreciate that, honey. But it still worries me. I don’t want those things—the fighting, the hurting—to happen to us. I don’t know what to do. Except quit.”

  Cinda hated the wistful, resigned note in his voice. Hated even worse that his loving her was causing it. She thought about what to do and came up with a compromise by the time they reached the car. “Trey, maybe you don’t have to break that promise. And maybe you can stay in racing.”

  He frowned. “I don’t see how. It’s a very demanding lifestyle. And Jude Barrett doesn’t cut anybody any slack. No, I’ll just have to quit. Because you come first. That’s just the way it is.”

  “I really needed to know you believe that. But, listen. For one thing, you’re not married to Jude Barrett. You’ll be married to me. Have you ever thought of sponsoring a car yourself, Trey? Or starting your own team? Then you’d be in control and could set the hours or wh
atever.”

  “Hell, yes, I’ve thought of it. For years. It’s been like a dream of mine. Shoot, I even know which of the guys on the team I’d ask to go with me. But I’ll never have the money.”

  Cinda smiled. “Well, I do.” She saw Trey’s protests coming and rushed on. “Don’t let your pride answer for you, Trey. We can do this. I think Richard would approve, too. He was such a daredevil himself that I think he’d love my idea. I personally can’t think of a better way to invest some of his money, can you?”

  Trey looked thunderstruck as all the possibilities sunk in. “My God, my own team? Wow.” Then he sobered. “If I went along with this, I’d want to pay you back all the money you’d put in up front.”

  Cinda laughed. “You silly thing. When we’re married, it will be our money. So if you want to pay yourself back, go ahead.”

  “Well, I’m going to. But I don’t know what to say, Cinda.”

  Well, if he didn’t, his mother did. “For corn’s sake, son, say yes.”

  Trey laughed and then bent over Cinda to kiss her. When he pulled back from her, he said, “Okay. Yes, I accept.”

  “Then it’s settled. Good.” Cinda thought she would faint from so much love and happiness. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how she was supposed to feel. Happy. Complete. Like she was going to die from it.

  Trey handed her Chelsi and walked with her around the back of the car to open the door where the baby’s car seat was. “So tell me about this reunion of yours. Oh, jeez, we’ll probably see Rocco—or Tommy—and Bobby Jean there, won’t we?”

  Cinda grimaced. “Oh, that’s right. God, Trey, Bobby Jean thinks she and I are friends now.” Trey laughed at her chagrin, so Cinda had to get him back. “What’s so funny, mister? Guess who’s going to the reunion with us?”

  Dorinda Cooper’s head popped up on the other side of the car where she’d been about to pile into the back seat. “Besides me, you mean?”

  “Besides you, of course.” Cinda turned to Trey. “Well? Are you going to guess?”

  He looked suddenly sullen. “I don’t want to.”

  Cinda could have devoured him right there, he was so cute. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Major Clovis.”

  “Who’s he?” Dorinda asked.

  “She,” Cinda corrected. “And you know, Dorinda, I can’t wait to see the two of you together. That ought to be interesting.”

  “Ha,” Trey griped, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “I don’t like her. She threatened to hurt me.”

  Balancing Chelsi on a hip, Cinda rubbed Trey’s arm affectionately. “And she will, too, honey. She wasn’t teasing you.” Then Cinda remembered something else. “Oh, and Richard’s parents will be there, too.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. They’re big contributors to the school. Richard also graduated from my high school, but I didn’t know him back then. He was four years older than I was. Anyway, you’ll love Papa Rick. That’s Richard’s father. Oh, you know what, Trey? I bet he will want to invest in your car, too. Oh, that is perfect. You’ll be so good for him. Oh, but then there’s the Dragon Lady, Richard’s mother. She’s a huge pain, but I love her. I’m afraid they’re just going to be in our lives, Trey.”

  Looking ill, Trey braced his butt against his car. “Lovely.” Then he smiled at her. “I’m kidding you. That’s fine with me, Cinda. I’ll love whoever you love. But is there anything else I should know?”

  Time to come clean. “Yes. I have three brothers. They’re all older than I am, and they’ll be there, too. And my parents. Everyone will be there.” Cinda smiled encouragingly. “Do you still want to marry me?”

  Trey reached out for her, drawing Chelsi and Cinda into his embrace. He kissed her forehead lightly. “Yes,” Trey said, “I do. I have since that day I saw you in that elevator.”

  “What elevator?” Dorinda Cooper asked.

  Cinda and Trey disengaged from their hug and turned to face Trey’s mother on the other side of the car. Trey answered her for them both. “We need to go rescue that pie, so we’ll tell you about it on the way home, Mother. But this elevator is a very important one. So important that if Cinda and I should ever have a son, we’ll have to name him Otis.”

  Her Perfect Wife

  KATE THOMAS

  “Ever heard of a telephone?”

  So much for “Hi, honey! How was your day?” Melinda thought.

  Jack stood in the doorway leading to the living area, and it didn’t take much to read his body language—feet apart, chiseled forearms crossed over that hard-muscled, broad chest.

  Melinda couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

  It was that or cry because somebody noticed how hard she worked.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” he informed her, uncrossing his arms to clamp his hands on his hips. “You’re almost two hours late! I was worried—anything could have happened.”

  The heck with that. “Uh, I don’t know what business of yours it—” she began.

  “What business?” He interrupted her. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, remember?”

  Flames seemed to flare from his blue eyes—but it was her insides that felt hot. Sexy and concerned—an irresistibly attractive combo.

  Dear Reader,

  Long ago, a friend of mine was working full-time for a law firm and going to medical school. When I voiced admiration for her industriousness, she launched into a semi-hysterical recitation of all the things she wasn’t getting done, things her stay-at-home mother did for her father: picking up dry cleaning, grocery shopping, sending out birthday cards….

  She ended with a summation I’ve never forgotten. (That’s what writers do: listen, look, remember and ask “what if?”) “What I need is a wife,” my friend said with a sigh.

  Today, as I kick my way past a mound of laundry that’s escaped its container again so I can shove a handful of receipts into the bulging “To Be Filed” file—while ignoring the answer machine’s impatiently blinking light and hoping the allergy-shot clinic is open tomorrow—I have to agree with her.

  All of which explains the premise of my latest Duets novel. These days, everyone could benefit from having a “wife” whose main job is to make life run smoother.

  I hope you enjoy Her Perfect Wife. And may yours be as hot and sexy as Melinda’s—the adorable though occasionally overconfident Jack Halloran!

  Kate Thomas

  Books by Kate Thomas

  HARLEQUIN DUETS

  18—TOO LUCKY FOR LOVE

  SILHOUETTE ROMANCE

  1023—THE TEXAS TOUCH

  1123—JINGLE BELL BRIDE

  1357—TEXAS BRIDE

  My thanks to Pat Rush for the sentiment,

  to Jean Price for her integrity

  and to my great editors at Harlequin/Silhouette

  for their enthusiasm and expertise.

  1

  AS THE TWO FRIENDS EMERGED from the chiffon and cummerbund gauntlet, their polite smiles faded like goodwill in the Middle East and they got down to business.

  “You grab the food,” instructed the redhead, whose name was Sherry. “I’ll snag the champagne. Meet at the usual table.”

  “Gotcha.” Sketching a brotherly salute, Jack Halloran, the taller half of the duo, turned toward the buffet.

  Separately but equally efficiently, the childhood pals worked their way through the crowded reception hall, resurrecting the paste-on smiles for strangers, exchanging slightly warmer greetings with wedding guests they knew from work.

  Ten minutes later, Jack plunked two plates piled with finger sandwiches and sundry toothpicked items on the corner table and dropped into one of the chairs against the wall. “Whew—what a mob! The far table has shrimp and a big bowl of strawberries, but I couldn’t get near it. You’d think these people hadn’t eaten in months.”

  Sherry, his champagne-wrangling compadre, pushed a stemmed glass across the table. “They always go nuts when it’s free. Hope Deb’s braced for a hefty bar tab.�
��

  “No sweat,” Jack assured his best friend since third grade. “The groom’s father owns a liquor distributor-ship.”

  “To Brad’s dad.” Silence reigned as two champagne glasses were raised and tilted. Toothpicks were lifted.

  A few minutes later, Sherry suspended her grazing to watch the bride and groom shuffle around on the dance floor. “Very Fred and Ginger,” she commented before switching her gaze to her companion. “You gonna dance if somebody asks you?”

  Jack shrugged. “Moot question, probably. Nobody even asked at Anne-Marie’s last week. Maybe I need a new outfit.”

  “It’s not the outfit,” Sherry countered with the bluntness only possible between longtime friends. “It’s the haggard, grim expression you wear with it. Drives people away.”

  Haggard became an outright scowl. “Sorry. I’ll try to be more glowing in the future.” Jack’s sarcastic tone warned against further discussion.

  After shooting him a return glare, Sherry obligingly shifted the focus of the conversation. “Well, nobody danced at Anne-Marie’s wedding—except the bride and groom. And they had to.”

  “Yeah, why was that reception so dead?”

  “Accordion music, that’s why.”

  The two shared a shudder, then Sherry pushed back her folding chair and stood. “Want some more champagne?”

  Jack nodded. Then, thinking the noise level around them would drown it, he gave a sigh that seemed to come from his toenails. “What I really want…”

  Instantly abandoning interest in bubbling alcohol, Sherry dropped back into her seat.

  With a glance at the milling reception crowd as if to check that nobody was paying the slightest attention to the two old pals in the corner behind the deejay’s setup, she tapped her friend’s knuckles with the back of her hand. “I knew something was bugging you! You’ve been OTL for weeks. Spill it, Halloran. What is it you really want?”