Have Bride, Need Groom. Maureen Child

to pick her way carefully across the pebble-strewn drive. It was the last time, she promised herself, that she would wear three-and-a-half-inch heels to her wedding.

      When Nick pulled open the kitchen door, waves of delicious aromas escaped the hot room and wafted around Jenny, teasing her stomach into low rumbles of appreciation. And the moment she stepped inside Tarantelli’s Terrace, she identified the mystery scent that seemed to cling to Nick. It was the delicate blend of Italian spices that flavored the air in his family’s restaurant.

      “Just because it’s Italian doesn’t mean it has to stink of garlic!” A female voice rose above the clatter of pots and pans.

      Beside her, Jenny heard Nick chuckle.

      “I am the chef here, madam.” The imperious male voice was easy to locate. Jenny found him in seconds. A tall man with a barrel chest, a truck tire stomach and a high, white chefs hat, was waving a wooden spoon at a much shorter woman.

      “But you’re using my recipes,” the woman retorted. Her black hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled away from her face into a tight knot at the base of her neck. Her huge brown eyes seemed to take up most of her face and despite her battle stance, the lines etched into her features spoke more of laughter than of temper.

      What seemed like dozens of kitchen workers bustled around the two combatants, paying no attention at all to their argument. Jenny jumped out of someone’s way and slammed into Nick’s broad chest. He lifted his hands to her shoulders to steady her.

      “Hey, Ma!” he shouted above the noise. Jenny watched the woman turn away from the chef quickly. A wide, brilliant smile flashed briefly across her features.

      “Nicky!”

      Jenny slanted a quick look up at him, expecting to see a wince of embarrassment. Instead, all she saw was an answering grin. She blinked at the transformation. With that smile in place, Nick Tarantelli was handsome enough to steal a woman’s breath away.

      “No garlic,” the woman shouted at the chef, then scurried away without giving the tall man a chance to argue further. Hurrying to them, the slightly round woman clapped her hands, then reached up to cup her son’s face. “Nicky! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

      “Hi, Ma,” he whispered, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Marianna Tarantelli, this is Jenny Blake and she—”

      “Call me Mama,” Marianna interrupted with a smile. “Everybody does. What happened?” She broke away from her son and let her gaze sweep over Jenny.

      “I fell.” Jenny shrugged helplessly.

      “Oh.” Mama clucked her tongue sympathetically. “How did that happen?” A fierce look crossed her face briefly. “Somebody push you?”

      “No.” Jenny sighed. “Actually, I was chasing your son.”

      The older woman spun around and poked Nick in the chest with her forefinger. “What are you doin’, making a sweet girl like this chase you?”

      “I didn’t tell her to chase me.” Nick held both hands up in mock surrender. “Besides, how do you know she’s a sweet girl?”

      “Humph!” Mama sneered at him and turned back to Jenny. Cupping the younger woman’s chin in one hand, she said, “I see it in her eyes. You can’t see that, Nicky?”

      Jenny looked up at him and saw the stubborn frown on his face before she lowered her gaze again.

      “So!” Mama commanded, letting go of Jenny’s chin only to grab hold of her elbow. “You come with Mama, now, young lady. I got just the thing to take care of you. And you can tell me all about what my son did while I fix your knees, okay?” As she began to drag her away, the older woman called over her shoulder, “Nicky! Go upstairs and get some of your sister’s things for Jenny to wear. They look about the same size.”

      “Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jenny said quickly.

      “Sure it’s necessary,” Mama argued, patting her hand. “You can’t wear a torn-up dress and holey stockings all night.”

      Jenny only had time for a quick look back over her shoulder. But Nick wasn’t standing by the door anymore. He’d already hustled off to follow his mother’s instructions. Jenny knew just how he felt. She’d only known Mama Tarantelli a matter of moments, but she couldn’t imagine anyone ignoring one of the older woman’s commands.

      

      Nick didn’t waste time in Gina’s room. No matter what his mother said, he wasn’t about to go rooting through his younger sister’s closet. Besides, from what he’d seen of Jenny Blake’s figure, Gina’s clothes would be too small up top and too big on the bottom-His mother must be blind, he told himself as he snatched Gina’s bathrobe from the hook on the back of her bedroom door.

      As he walked down the long hall of the family living quarters toward the stairs that led to the restaurant, Nick wondered if he’d done the right thing, bringing Jenny to his mother. Sure he had, he told himself. His mother had taken care of more strays than Mother Teresa. Besides, he hadn’t had a lot of time to come up with an alternate plan.

      Nick’s boot heels thumped against the worn carpet runner and he clutched the bathrobe tightly in one fist. He couldn’t very well have taken her to her room at Sinbad’s, could he? Lord, just thinking about her in that short, tight dress, with her wide, innocent eyes, strolling through the parking lot at Sinbad’s gave him cold chills.

      How in the bell had she managed to find the one hotel in the whole city of Vegas that had more human slugs per square inch than anywhere else in the world? Instinct? Nick shuddered. She had been about to marry Jimmy, after all.

      And what was all that nonsense about having to get married? He stopped short at the top of the stairs and told himself to forget about the odd sense of relief he’d felt when she’d admitted she wasn’t pregnant. Why the devil did he care if she was expecting or not? Hell, he didn’t even know her!

      Grumbling under his breath, he started down the stairs, still clutching the bathrobe. Something told him that he’d be a lot better off if he didn’t get to know her, either. All he wanted now was to have dinner, go back to his own place, and leave Jenny Blake in his mother’s capable hands.

      

      “So you have to be married by when?”

      Jenny’s breath hissed from between her teeth as Mama Tarantelli dabbed iodine on the raw flesh of her knees. “Four days,” she said finally.

      “Hmm.” Mama held a cotton ball against the open top of the iodine bottle and tipped it. When she was finished, she reached for Jenny’s other knee. Dabbing the dark brown liquid onto the scrapes, she said, “And you say Nicky arrested your young man?”

      Jenny’s fingers curled around the lip of the bathroom sink she was perched on and she winced as the iodine met her flesh. Of course it wasn’t really accurate to say that Jimmy Baldini was her “young man.” But Nick certainly had arrested him.

      “Yes.”

      “A nice girl like you shouldn’t be marrying men who are getting arrested.” Mama shook her head slowly as she straightened and reached for one of Jenny’s hands.

      “I didn’t know he was a bigamist,” Jenny said in her own defense. “In fact, I didn’t know him at all.”

      “Then why in hell were you about to marry him?” a male voice asked.

      Jenny turned and saw Nick leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over the robe pressed to his broad chest.

      “As I was just telling your mother,” she started to explain, then jerked her hand instinctively back from a splash of iodine. But Mama was as strong as she looked and didn’t release her. “I’ve run out of time. I have to be married and I only have four days to do it in.”

      “What’s the rush?” he asked even as he told himself