Have Bride, Need Groom. Maureen Child

had. And, Nick thought wryly, the Tarantelli’s were better at it, too.

      Slipping off the edge of the bathroom sink, Jenny stood up straight to face him. But in her bare feet, she didn’t make much of an impression. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest.

      Still, he had to give her credit. She pulled her shoulders back and stared up at him evenly. “I’ll remind you, Mr. Taraptelli, that if not for you, I would already be married.”

      An unreasonable flicker of relief trickled through him and Nick refused to admit to it. What the hell difference did it make to him if she got married or not? None, he told himself. Absolutely none at all. Although, he thought as he stared into her eyes and watched flecks of green shimmer in their clear blue depths, looking into her eyes could get to be a habit.

      A habit he didn’t want, Nick thought with hardened determination.

      When he tore his gaze from hers, he saw Jenny shake herself as if she were coming out of a trance. He knew just how she felt.

      “I—” Jenny started, stopped, then spoke again. “Thank you both for everything, but I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”

      Mama clucked her tongue and took Jenny’s arm firmly in her grasp. “No such thing. You’re staying here.”

      “Oh, I couldn’t,” Jenny said, and futilely tried to pull free.

      Nick didn’t say a word. He’d been expecting this. And more than that, he agreed with it. He wasn’t about to take a woman like Jenny back to Sinbad’s, of all places.

      “Sure you can,” Mama went on as she headed for the stairs, pulling Jenny along behind her. “You’ll stay in my son Tony’s room.”

      “I can’t put your son out of his bed,” Jenny protested, and threw a wild glance at Nick, looking for help.

      He ignored her silent plea and went to his mother’s side. The older woman had stopped short at the foot of the stairs and she was staring into nothingness. But Nick knew what memory she was looking at. He knew because he saw it himself, often. He knew because the pain his mother was experiencing at that moment was all his fault.

      Instinctively, he went up to the older woman, draped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze before bending to drop a kiss on top of her head. Then he glanced at Jenny. “Tony’s not here. You can stay in his room as long as you like. Isn’t that right, Ma?”

      “Yes.” Mama sniffed, straightened her shoulders and reached up to pat Nick’s hand before she nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

      “But it’s not necessary...” Jenny tried again. “I can do this myself, Mama.”

      “No need for that My Nicky is happy to help.” His mother turned and fixed him with a look he hadn’t seen since he was ten years old and had smashed the restaurant window with a home run. Amazing, he thought, that it still had such power over him. His mother paused for a long moment before asking much too sweetly, “Aren’t you, Nicky?”

      

      Warm, fed and freshly showered, the pain in her knees faded to no more than an unpleasant reminder of a shattered plan. Jenny curled up in a worn armchair by the window. Staring out at the night, she tried to tell herself that everything would be all right. That things had a way of working out.

      But her mind wasn’t listening.

      Over and over again, her brain counted down the days. Four, three, two, one. She had to find a husband. A mental image of her grandmother’s smiling face only strengthened her determination. Jenny wouldn’t risk losing the only family she had left.

      Letting her head fall against the back of the chair, Jenny’s gaze focused on a single bright star. If only she had taken care of this sooner. If only she had more time.

      More time? her mind shouted. In four days, you’ll be twenty-seven. How much more time is required, for heaven’s sake?

      Even if she didn’t count the years before she turned twenty, that still left seven long years in which she should have found a husband.

      And she could have, if she hadn’t been waiting for the lightning.

      Jenny groaned, lifted her head and frowned. That’s where she’d made her mistake. She’d really believed her grandmother’s tales of true love and soul mates. How many times, Jenny wondered, had her grandmother told her about the lightning bolt? About how the women in her family, when first kissed by their true soul mate, would feel an arc of lightning shoot down their spines and into their hearts.

      And how many men had Jenny kissed hopefully, waiting for that bolt to strike?

      All right, she admitted silently. Not all that many.

      But still, if she hadn’t been waiting for her grandmother’s tall tale to come true, who knew? She might already have a family and her grandmother’s life wouldn’t be in danger.

      A knock at the door shattered her thoughts and Jenny turned. “Yes?”

      “It’s me, Nick.”

      Jenny ignored the tiny ripple of awareness that sent goose bumps racing along her flesh. Muttering under her breath about stress and a lack of sleep, she rose, crossed the room and opened the door.

      He looked taller, somehow, backlit by the overhead lamp in the hallway.

      “I went to Sinbad’s and got your suitcase.”

      “Oh!” She stepped back and allowed him to walk past her. “Thank you.” Even though the oversize shirt she’d borrowed from his absent brother Tony was comfortable, Jenny was glad to have her things with her.

      Nick plopped the bag onto the bed and the mattress sagged.

      “Weighs a ton,” he said absently.

      She had always overpacked, but Jenny didn’t feel the need to confess that fault to him.

      “You never did say...” Nick went on, turning to face her. “How the hell did you pick a place like Sinbad’s? Stick a pin in a city map?”

      Jenny sensed his gaze move over her and suddenly felt as though the old shirt she wore was transparent. Glancing quickly around the room, she spied an afghan at the foot of the bed. Hurrying past Nick, she snatched it up and swung it over her shoulders like a shawl. Feeling a bit less at a disadvantage, she answered his question. “It was the nicest hotel without a casino that I saw.”

      One black eyebrow lifted high on his forehead. “You disapprove of gambling?”

      “Not for everyone else,” she answered, though she really couldn’t understand the fascination other people had for throwing money into a machine that only rarely spit any of it back. “But I never have been very lucky.”

      He laughed.

      At least, Jenny thought it was a laugh. It was so choked and short, it could have been a bark, but why would Nick Tarantelli be barking? “What’s so funny?” she asked.

      “You.” Shaking his head, Nick sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her as though her head were on fire. “You’re not lucky at gambling so you don’t do it.”

      “That’s right.”

      “But you’re willing to gamble on Jimmy the Lip as a husband?”

      “That’s different,” she protested, though his analogy did make her feel a bit ridiculous. “Besides, I don’t have a choice.”

      “Oh,” he nodded slowly. “That’s right. The curse.”

      “Yes.”

      He pushed one hand through his hair and told himself one more time that this was none of his business. Then he heard himself say. “So you picked Sinbad’s because there was no casino.”

      “Well, that and there seemed to be a lot of women staying there.”