A Baby...Maybe? & How to Hunt a Husband (16 page)

How To Hunt a Husband

Holly Jacobs

“Bull.”

“That's right, ma'am, just call me Bull. And of course I like steak. A real manly meal, that is. I was afraid we'd be eating some highbrow food, like couscous or sushi.”

The minute Shannon's mother was out of the room Shannon started laughing. “You're good, Nate, uh, I mean Bull. Very good.”

“I thought she was going to pass out,” he said.

“Me, too. I bet she's gone to get reinforcements, namely my dad. You must have her really flustered.”

When Shannon's parents returned, she noted how they kept shooting looks at each other. It was that strange couple-speak that truly connected people—people who were meant for each other—had. Those kinds of looks carried more meaning than words. She wondered if Nate would agree.

Bull, aka Nate, sidled up to Shannon quietly as her parents busied themselves setting the dinner table. He whispered softly in her ear, “I totally agree.”

Dear Reader,

In
How To Hunt a Husband
, Shannon and Nate (aka Roxy and Bull) embark on a journey of change and discovery. Their little trick to escape their mothers' meddling ends up being a lot more than either one of them ever dreamed about, especially when it ends in love.
How To Hunt a Husband
is a sequel to last year's
How To Catch a Groom
. I hope you enjoy revisiting these characters as much as I did!

Somehow it seems appropriate that this book is about change and discovery, because it's the last of a fantastic series. Though Duets is being put to bed, so to speak, Harlequin's new romantic comedy line is on its way as Flipside. I hope you'll discover Flipside—it's a smart, sassy, single-volume series that will keep you laughing even as you fall in love.

Holly Jacobs

I love to hear from my readers. You can find me online at www.HollysBooks.com, or snailmail me at P.O. Box 11102, Erie, PA 16514-1102.

Books by Holly Jacobs

HARLEQUIN DUETS

 43—I WAXED MY LEGS FOR
THIS?

 67—READY, WILLING AND…ABEL?

        RAISING CAIN

 84—HOW TO CATCH A GROOM

 92—NOT PRECISELY PREGNANT

100—THE 100-YEAR ITCH

SILHOUETTE ROMANCE

1557—DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

1653—A DAY LATE AND A BRIDE SHORT

To JoAnn Ross, a fantastic writer,
a wonderful mentor…and a heck of a friend!

 

A special thanks to Burhenn's Pharmacy!

“T
HAT WOMAN
,”
Brigit O'Malley said.

There was a certain humph in her mother's voice that left no question in Shannon O'Malley's mind as to who “that woman” was.

Tuesday was pinochle day, so “that woman” had to be Cecilia Romano. Even a beautiful March day—and beautiful days in March were rare and treasured in Erie, Pennsylvania—couldn't obscure the black cloud “that woman” had given Brigit O'Malley.

Actually not much could shake Brigit from her Tuesday-evening funks.

“Mom, why do you go play cards every week when you always come home in a snit?”

“I am never in a snit.
Snit.
That's such an undignified word. I am—” her mother paused a moment, searching her thesaurus-like brain for a better word choice “—perturbed. Cecilia perturbs me beyond the limits of what a sane rational human can endure. Why, do you believe she's saying her daughter could—” she sputtered her way to a standstill.

“Cara?” Shannon said. “What could Cara do?”

Shannon didn't actually know Cara Romano, but knew of her, not only through their mothers, but because Shannon's sister, Kate, had married Cara's ex-fiancé, Tony Donetti.

The logistics of their connection were tangled at best, but it was their mothers that made Shannon feel a bond to the unmet Cara. After all, Cecilia Romano seemed as determined to control the fates of her children as Shannon's own mother was.

At least Brigit O'Malley had long ago decided that Shannon was a hopeless cause and had concentrated on getting Mary Kathryn's life in order. But since her sister had moved to Texas with her new husband, Shannon had noticed her mother was around a lot more, dropping in unexpectedly—as she'd done this evening—and taking a sudden interest in Shannon's activities.

Truth be told, all the attention made her a bit nervous.

More than a bit.

A lot.

Her mother stopped sputtering and said, “Cecilia said Cara can find a man before you can, when everyone knows that you are far more beautiful than that Cara Romano is. Why, men are beating down your door, begging to marry you. Aren't they?”

“Not exactly.”

Beating down her door? Heck, she could hardly
remember what it was to have them knocking softly.

Shannon hadn't had a date in months. She'd been so busy planning for Mary Kathryn's wedding, then dealing with her parents in the aftermath of her sister's great bridal escape, that she simply hadn't had the time—or inclination—to date. “And, since I'm not looking for a man, Mother, I'm going to assume that Mrs. Romano is right, Cara will probably beat me to the altar.”

No, the last few man-free months had convinced Shannon that dating was overrated. Without a man in the picture she'd been able to do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted, without having to consult someone else. She hadn't watched one blood-and-guts testosterone-filled film during the entire time. She'd watched chick-flicks. Lots of chick flicks. She'd drooled over Colin Firth, Ewan McGregor and Hugh Jackman—big-screen men who didn't mind that she hadn't shaved her legs for weeks.

Yes, there were advantages to a man-free existence.

“You're not a—” her mother paused and lowered her voice as if there were hidden microphones in the apartment that might overhear her question “—one of those women who doesn't like men?”

“I like men just fine, at least on a limited basis.
Limited,
Mom. That's the keyword. I'm not looking for anything long-term when I date from now on.
I've decided that I want to see a man only as long as the initial politeness lasts.”

“Initial politeness?”

“You know, that golden time in a relationship when a man will do what you want. When he'll listen to what you have to say as if every word is a treasure. Why, when things are new he'll even see chick-flicks or go shopping. Once that glow is over, I'm done with him.”

That was going to be her new rule of thumb.
Use them, then lose them.

“Shannon Bonnie O'Malley, you take that back.”

Shannon suppressed a shudder. “Mother, I hate it when you call me that.”

“We've had this fight over and over again. Bonnie is a perfectly lovely name. It was my mother's name and she was a wonderful woman. You're lucky to be named after her.”

“You're right. Bonnie is a perfectly lovely name, so is Shannon for that matter. But some names don't go together. Bonnie doesn't go with Shannon. Ichabod and Archibald, they don't go together either.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult? Mary Kathryn never complained when I called her Mary Kathryn.”

That was the refrain of her relationship with her mother. Shannon had been
difficult
when she'd played soccer rather than join the science club.
She'd been
difficult
when she'd discovered a passion for art rather than something more academic.

Mary Kathryn was the good daughter, bending to her parents' dreams for her. And Shannon? Well, she was the variable in the equation of her mother's life.

“Ah, but Mary Kathryn's not a Mary Kathryn anymore, is she?”

When her sister ran out on her wedding she changed her life completely. New man. New state. New job. New name. A part of Shannon envied her sister those changes.

“She's Kate. Kate Donetti,” Shannon continued. “And I think she's happier that way.”

Her mother just shook her head. “You are the most difficult, cantankerous girl alive.”

“I learned from the best.” Shannon leaned over and gave her mother a peck on the cheek. She'd never really seen eye-to-eye with her about, well, about anything, but she loved her.

And though she frequently annoyed her mother, she didn't doubt Brigit loved her as well, even though she wasn't overly demonstrative.

“Here, try this on,” her mother said as she thrust a garment bag at Shannon.

Shannon looked at the huge bag. “What is this?”

“It's Mary Kathryn's wedding dress. I asked her to mail it back to me. We spent a small fortune on that dress, you know. I want to see it walk
all
the way down the aisle. Oh, she did some damage we'd
have to get repaired, but let's see if it fits you before we worry about that.”

“Fits me?” Shannon stared at her mother, not sure where she was going with this. “Why would you care if it fits me?”

“Well, if it doesn't we'll have to find something else for you to wear.” Her mother put her hand on Shannon's shoulder and started steering her toward the bedroom. “Come on, try it on.”

Shannon ground her heels into the carpet and faced her mother. “Wear when?”

Maybe her mother's fight with Cecilia had finally driven her over the edge. Maybe she'd been sniffing just a bit too much formaldehyde in the lab she worked at.

Maybe her mother was totally deranged.

“At your wedding,” her mother said.

“What wedding?” Shannon asked, feeling not-very-bright and more than a little nervous.

“The wedding I'm planning. I told you what Cecilia said about Cara. I can't let that woman beat me, so that means I can't let her daughter beat you to the altar. I thought right after school got out. June twenty-fifth. What do you think about that day? That leaves you plenty of time for a honeymoon before you start back to school next fall. Of course, that doesn't leave me long to get the entire thing planned. Less than four months.”

“Mother, I know I seem dense here, but just who is it that I'm supposed to be marrying?”

Shannon had often felt like the not-so-bright family member. Her parents and Mary Kathryn all had a ton of initials behind their names. They lived for academia.

Well, actually, since she'd married Tony, Kate lived for Donetti's Irish Pub and Cooked Sushi Bar, but that was beside the point. She still had initials behind her name, and Shannon was still
just
the high-school art teacher.

Oh, her family never added the
just
to her job description, at least not out loud, but Shannon knew they thought it. They valued those initials, and though she had a B.A. in education and art, she didn't have all those extra, more impressive initials. And she taught art, not a serious subject like science.

Shannon realized her mother was talking again. Something about a wedding.

Her wedding?

Who did her mother think she was going to marry?

“…Seth.”

Shannon's attention jumped back into focus. “Mother, you're not suggesting I marry Seth? You went to his wedding to Desi, after all.”

“How could I forget. When it was Mary Kathryn's wedding that wedding planner didn't worry at all when I pointed out the cake was too small, but at her own wedding? Why, the cake was huge.
A veritable mountain of cake. Still I never understood why she had Barbies on the top.”

Her mother was quiet a moment, obviously pondering why Seth and Desi had had Barbies for their wedding-cake toppers.

“So what does Seth have to do with anything?” Shannon finally asked when she couldn't stand the silence any more.

“I called Seth to see if he knew a nice man you could marry…”

 

N
ATHAN
C
ALDER
sat at the bar in O'Halloran's Bar and Grill. He wasn't drinking anything harder than cola even though it was Friday and he was off tomorrow. He'd simply come by to show Mick how he'd spent his tax return…on his new Harley.

Yep, he was a bad-assed, Harley-riding…pharmacist. A bad-assed, Harley-riding pharmacist who'd only just got his motorcycle license and obviously shouldn't have been awarded it, since he'd stalled the motorcycle three times on the way over to Mick's.

He felt like he was this year's April Fool joke because it was hard to feel tough when you were sitting in the middle of traffic, wearing your new leather jacket…and trying to restart your engine.

Harder still when you flooded it and had to wheel the motorcycle to the side of the road and wait ten minutes for the gas in the carburetor to evaporate before you could try the engine again.

Nate sipped his cola, wondering how he was go
ing to get the bike home without repeating the incident.

He planned to ride the bike to hockey practice this week and let his team “ooh” and “ah” over it, but maybe he should rethink that plan, at least until he'd mastered the art of not stalling.

Nate caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. A beautiful woman had taken the seat next to him. A heart-stoppingly beautiful woman. Tall, with reddish hair cut short, but not the least bit mannish. No, this woman was the type who made any man in proximity sit up and take notice.

The kind of woman who made him forget all about his Harley troubles.

“Hey, Mick. Could I have the usual?” she called in a husky sort of voice that made every man within hearing distance who hadn't already noticed her turn her way.

“Sure, thing, Shannon-me-love,” Mick said in his patently fake Irish brogue.

“Come on, Mick. Give the lady a break,” Nate ribbed his friend. “You know you grew up right next door to me in Glenwood Hills, not in the green hills of Ireland.”

Nate shot a grin at the redhead.

The bartender smiled as he said, “Ah, sure I do, Nate, but Shannon likes the brogue for atmosphere, don't you my sweet?”

“Ah, Mick, the Irish apple of my eye, you can
be sure I do. Why, if me mum keeps insisting I get married, I may just take you home and make the poor woman's dreams come true. Why, she'd not only be getting her wedding, but it would include a good Irish boy as well. Ah, she'd never recover from the sheer joy of it all. And I'd be trading the O'Malley last name for O'Hallaran. My initials would stay the same. Yes, you may be the perfect husband material…at least if it wasn't for the wee fact that you're a hound when it comes to the women.”

Mick leaned across the bar and said, “And though I'd rather be kissing a banshee than marrying anyone, I might just make an exception for you, Shannon-me-love.”

Chuckling, he moved toward the other end of the long bar where a customer was hailing him.

“He's something else,” Shannon murmured as she took a sip of whatever it was Mick had given her.

“Sure is. Why, his first day of high school he convinced the teachers he was an Irish exchange student.”

Mick's Shannon grinned as she asked, “You knew him then?”

“Sure did. We've been friends forever. I'm Nathan Calder. Not that he'd ever introduce me to a pretty lady. He likes to keep them all for himself. Selfish, that's Mick.” He chuckled and added, “Friends call me Nate.”

“Shannon, Shannon O'Malley.”

She held her hand out to Nate and they shook.

If asked, Nate would have testified that there were actual sparks flying off their joined hands. He'd have sworn to it in a court of law. Slightly bemused by the experience, he pulled his hand back as quickly as possible.

As a professional, Nate had shaken a lot of hands, but none that left him feeling as
shaken
as Shannon's did. It wasn't as if there was anything special about her hand. He quickly glanced at it to make sure.

Nope. There was nothing special about it at all. Just five fingers on a nicely shaped palm. One small ring. Short, neatly manicured nails.

What on earth was he doing noticing a woman's manicure? He must be more flustered than he'd thought about the whole stalling-the-motorcycle thing.

He tried to pull his scattered wits back together. “Well, Shannon-me-love O'Malley, if Mick stands you up on that offer of marriage, give me a call. My mother would love nothing more than to hear some woman is making an honest man of me.”

“You're mother's on the marriage kick, too?” she asked, sympathy in her voice.