A Baby...Maybe? & How to Hunt a Husband (19 page)

“That's great. Goodbye, Mom.”

She didn't get the phone a millimeter from her ear before her mother yelled, “Oh, no. You might have given me something new to worry about, but I haven't forgotten that I expect you to bring the boy—”

“Man.”

“—to the house for dinner tonight.”

“Mom, we just met. It's just a date.”

“Good,” her mother said. “Dating is good. Bring him by and we'll find out all about him together.”

“I'll bring him along if you promise not to start talking about weddings with him.”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“Fine. I won't mention the word
wedding.
Now, be here at five. I'm calling Mary…Kate.”

“Five it is, Mom.”

“I look forward to it,” her mother said right before she hung up.

“So do I,” Shannon murmured to herself as she hung up the phone.

At least she hoped she did. After all, last night hadn't gone the way they'd planned.

She'd admitted it was her fault.

She'd apologized to Nate, and though he'd accepted her apology, he'd still been a bit put out when he'd dropped her off at home.

Shannon knew where the problems stemmed from. It was a curse.

She liked to be liked.

She blamed genetics.

Women were trained to be likable, to be easygoing. They were genetically and socially predisposed to want to be accepted.

No, that might sound good and scientific, but unfortunately the theory just didn't play out.

Look at her mother. She obviously didn't have an overwhelming compulsion to be liked. Not that Shannon didn't like her mom.

She did.

But
easygoing
wasn't a word that people used to describe Brigit O'Malley.

Overbearing.

Pushy.

Opinionated.

Competitive.

But not
easy-going
.

And frequently not
likable.

No, wherever this need to be liked stemmed from, she couldn't blame her mother or her mother's genes.

But she could blame her mother for the fact she found herself in this absurd situation at all.

Her musings were interrupted by a sound that could only be a Harley Davidson. Loud and rumbling, the Harley drew closer, and Shannon's heart sped up.

Not that she was excited about seeing Nate.

Of course she wasn't.

Her accelerated heart-rate probably had to do with the fact that she was nervous about him being mad at her.

Not that she'd blame him if he was.

A tiny part of her had been afraid he wouldn't show up today. Not that she cared on a personal level—they hardly knew each other after all, though she was inclined to like what she did know of him. No, the only reason she was concerned about his not showing was because she needed him to get her mother off her back.

And now, he had shown up, even after she'd mucked up last night. Maybe he'd only shown up because his mother had invited her back to dinner next weekend. Well, she'd use that time to try to undo the damage she'd done last night. She was going to carry her exotic-dancer routine as far as she could and try to shock his mother into disliking her.

She wasn't going to examine the fact that knowing she'd be seeing Nathan again next weekend wasn't any particular hardship.

He was a nice guy. But that didn't mean she wanted anything more than the friendly partnership they'd formed. After all, she liked her chick-flick-watching ways.

Shannon waited for him to knock, even though she knew he'd arrived. Heck, with the amount of noise the Harley made, the whole neighborhood
knew he'd arrived. But she didn't want to appear too…excited? Anxious?

Whatever. She just didn't want him thinking she was too pleased to see him. She was playing it cool, despite the fact her heart was racing and her palms were sweating.

She heard the knock and had the front door opened a split second after his knuckles had tapped the wooden door.

Nate jumped back half a step, obviously startled that she'd opened the door so fast.

So much for her cool act.

“Hi, Nate,” she said, trying to gauge his mood.

“Shannon.” He didn't smile and her name came out rather terse.

He was still upset.

Darn.

“Aw, come on, Nate, I said I was sorry. I swear, by the time dinner is over next weekend, your parents will be begging you never to see me again. Your mom will declare she can wait to be a grandmother, at least until you find an appropriate woman. I'm really sorry that they liked me.”

His hard expression evaporated and she saw a hint of a smile. “Well, it was kind of funny to hear her go on about starting a support group for guys who frequent strip clubs.”

Shannon chuckled. “By the time I was done describing the place, I almost believed I was talking about other exotic dancers, and not just adapting
stories about teachers I know from school. I never realized I had a gift for telling stories.”

“Blarney,” Nate said.

“What?”

“Mick would say you have the gift of the blarney. A fine Irish tradition.”

“Well, if anyone knows blarney, it's Mick. I can see why you've kept him around all these years. He's a great guy. I'm not much of a bar person, but after all my mom's fix-ups, I always seem to end up there. Mick's doesn't seem like a bar, but rather just a place to hang out with friends.”

Something in Nate's expression changed slightly. Oh, he was still smiling, but there was some difference that Shannon couldn't quite identify.

“So are you ready for our lesson?” he asked, not sounding overly enthused.

They'd agreed it would be better if Nate was the one driving the motorcycle when they pulled up to her parents, so she'd suggested they spend the afternoon practicing.

Shannon figured if she could teach kids to appreciate art, she could teach Nate to ride a Harley without stalling…at least she hoped she could. That way when the charade was over he'd not only have his mother off his back, but he'd be able to actually ride his motorcycle.

“I'm all set,” she said. “I thought we'd go over to the school parking lot. It's virtually deserted most weekends.”

“Fine. You drive there, I'll drive back.”

H
E'S A
great guy.

An hour and a half later, Nate was still stewing about Shannon's comment about Mick.

It wasn't as if he didn't agree. Mick
was
a great guy.

Funny.

Intelligent. He'd been working his way through school for years. Balancing his school work with owning his own business—so you could add independent to his glowing list of
great
nesses.

Yeah, Mick was a great guy, and all of a sudden, it bothered Nate and he wasn't sure why. Oh, he might suspect, but he wasn't sure and wasn't about to examine his level of annoyance until he was sure. He was afraid of what he might find.

Because there was no way he could be jealous.

That flood of
some feeling
that overtook his system every time he thought of the casual friendliness Mick and Shannon had displayed the first night had to be something else entirely.

A great guy.

Ha.

He could tell Shannon some stories about great
old Mick that would make her spiky hair stand on end. But he wouldn't, because who Shannon thought was
great
made no difference to him. It wasn't as if they were anything more than partners. He had no real claim on her.

Why, he hardly knew Shannon.

They were just helping each other out of their mother-marriage woes.

She could date whomever she wanted. Not that she was dating Mick.

At least, he didn't think she was dating Mick.

Maybe he should talk to Mick and make sure Shannon wasn't dating him.

Not that it mattered.

It wasn't as if Nate was looking to date Shannon in any way except their
fake
way.

He eased the motorcycle into her driveway and cut the motor. She unwrapped her arms from around his waist.

He sort of missed the feeling of her pressed against him.

“That was great, Nate,” she said as she climbed off the bike.

She pulled her helmet off, set it on the back of the bike and ran her fingers through her short hair as she grinned at him. “You made it all the way home without stalling it once. I think you've got it.”

“Thanks to you.” Nate put down the kick-stand
and leaned the bike gently against it, then took off his own helmet.

“Nah. You would have got it on your own. You just needed practice, that's all.”

“What time are we supposed to be at your parents?” he asked.

“Five. We've got time.”

“Time for what?” he asked. There was a certain gleam in her eye that made him nervous.

They'd talked about motorcycle lessons and dinner, but they had no other plans for the day, of that he was sure.

“Time for me to take you to see my friend, Emilio.”

Emilio?

How many men did Shannon have hanging around?

“Is he a great guy, too?” Nate asked.

The moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he could suck them back in.

“What?” Shannon asked, shooting him a piercing look with those beautiful green eyes.

Beautiful green eyes?
Man, next thing you know he'd be waxing poetic about her emerald gaze, or some such nonsense.

“Never mind,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended. “So, why are we seeing this Emilio?”

“Because you're getting that tattoo you wanted,” she said with a grin.

“I don't think so,” Nate said, feeling a hint of regret.

It's not that he hadn't toyed with the idea of a tattoo, but it certainly didn't fit his daytime persona and…well, he didn't like needles.

It wasn't a very manly concern, so he didn't confess it to Shannon, but there it was. It wasn't just a small dislike, but more of a minor phobia.

Okay, maybe a major phobia.

Yeah, he was not meant to be tattooed.

“No. No tattoos.”

“Trust me,” Shannon said.

 

“S
O WHAT DO
you think?” Nate asked as he climbed off the motorcycle he'd parked right on her parents' perfectly manicured lawn.

Oh, her mom would hate a Harley on the lawn, which is why she'd told Nate to park there.

Shannon stood at the side of the motorcycle, dressed in the most preppy and innocent-looking outfit she could manage. A pale-blue oxford shirt, a dark-blue pair of jeans and white tennis shoes. She'd wanted to dress in stark contrast to Nate's outfit.

She'd helped him pick it out and thought they'd done a great job of transforming her professional-looking pharmacist into a bad-assed biker.

Nate was dressed in a black T-shirt with its arms cut off, under a black leather vest.

Okay, so his hair wasn't long by anyone's standard, but he'd done something to it. It looked wild.
He'd put on dark glasses that shaded his warm brown eyes. Well-worn, faded black jeans and black leather riding boots finished the ensemble.

Well, almost finished.

“So?” He flexed his arm and the mermaid on his right forearm undulated in a suggestive sort of way.

It was fake, but no one would know it.

Emilio was good. Fantastic, actually, she thought with a great deal of teacherly pride. She'd been working with him privately for a few years. He was one of her best students, ever.

The crowning glory of her year was getting him an art scholarship. It felt like a validation for all the time and effort she gave both to her school students and her private ones.

She loved teaching kids to appreciate art, while she worked with people who not only appreciated it, but created it. Occasionally there was one of those rare students who had the type of raw talent that just begged to be developed.

Emilio was one of those.

“My mother's going to freak out,” she said, admiring Emilio's work. “Mom's not into guys with tattoos. She's hoping for a professional for me. Let's see, she's fixed me up with her banker, her accountant, and even tried to fix me up with her gynecologist…I drew the line with that one. Ew. She thinks I need someone who will settle me down.”

“So, she's hoping for a professional. What are you hoping for?” Nate asked from the other side of the motorcycle, suddenly serious. He peered over the top of his dark glasses, waiting for an answer.

“Someone I can love.” The words were out before she could stop herself. She could feel her face heat up. What a stupid, stupid thing to say. “I didn't mean to say that.”

“You're embarrassed,” Nate said. “Why would wanting to love someone embarrass you?”

“It sounds so…I don't know, juvenile. But it's the truth. I want someone special. I'm not settling for less than love just because my mother might lose a bet. I want what she has with my dad, what Kate found with Tony.”

“Good for you.” They walked toward the front door.

Before they reached the steps, she stopped. “And you? What are you looking for?”

“I don't know. I don't think guys spend much time thinking about stuff like that.”

“If you don't think about it, how are you going to know what you want?”

“I guess I'll figure it out when the time comes.”

Shannon found his answer less than satisfactory, not that it mattered what Nate was looking for in a woman. Didn't matter a bit. All she was worried about was this meeting with her parents.

“What you're looking for doesn't matter tonight. What does matter is that you're looking to be as
shocking as possible. I want my mom to send that dress back to Kate. I want her not to weigh every man she meets as potential husband material for me. I want her to cancel the church and stop hounding local priests.”

“I'll do my best,” Nate said with a grin.

They walked up the steps and onto the porch. The boards creaked as they walked to the door.

Shannon knocked, rather than just unlock it with her key and walk in. She was staging a grand entrance, after all. It wouldn't work unless someone was there to witness it.

“By the way, Roxy,” Nate said with a devilish grin, “I have a new name, too.”

“Oh?” She looked up and could see that it was going to be good. “What is it?”

“Bull.”

Shannon snorted. “Oh, that's good. Very bikerish.”

“I thought you'd like it. I—”

Nate was interrupted as the door flew open.

Shannon's mom stood there, a smile on her face…a smile that slowly faded when she saw Nate.

“Shannon?” she asked, still staring at Nate as if she couldn't look past the biker on her steps to see if her daughter was indeed present. She didn't even notice the motorcycle on her front lawn, she was so horrified by Shannon's date.

“Hi, Mom,” Shannon said brightly, pleased with
her mom's reaction. “This is my friend, Nate, Nate Calder.”

“But call me Bull,” Nate said. “That's what my friends all call me. I think it fits my personality better than Nate ever did.”

“Bull?” Brigit asked weakly.

“Yeah.”

Shannon saw the moment her mother spotted the motorcycle. If anything she looked even more disgusted.

“And is that your…vehicle?” she asked, her voice even fainter.

“My bike? Yeah. Isn't she a beaut? A bike is like a woman, they each have their own personality, their own style. It takes just the right man to ride them. My bike, like Shannon, is a lady. A classy ride. I can't figure out why either of them like me, but I'm glad they do.”

He looped an arm over Shannon's shoulders and pulled her toward him.

She'd been right when she'd figured that she'd fit easily within the confines of his embrace.

“Oh, Bull,” she murmured as she batted her eyelashes in what she hoped was a lovesick manner. “You do say the sweetest things.”

“They're not always sweet,” he said with a suggestive lilt to his voice.

“No,” she said with a grin that suggested a private joke. As if she suddenly realized her mother
was there, she added, “Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. It's just that Bull makes me forget myself.”

“Oh” was her mother's flat response.

“Are you going to invite us in?” Shannon pressed.

“Certainly. Certainly. Come in.” Brigit didn't add
make yourself at home.

As a matter of fact, she wore an expression that said she wanted to go lock up all the valuables before Nate came into the house.

Somehow Shannon kept a straight face. Nate did as well. He was doing a fantastic job. She'd have to do as well next week when they went to his parents to redeem herself for yesterday's little like-me fest. She had a week to learn to be as difficult and as unlikable as possible.

“Your dad's out back grilling some steaks,” her mother said, as she led them through the living room and into the dining room. “You do like steak, Mr.—”

“Bull. Just call me Bull, ma'am. And of course I like steak. A real manly meal, that is. I was afraid we'd be eating some highbrow sort of meal, like couscous or sushi. Give me a big steak any day of the week. Rare, if that's okay.”

“Rare. I'll tell Sean,” Brigit said as she hurried out. “Shannon, make your friend at home.”

The minute her mother was out of the room Shannon started laughing.

“Bull. Just call me Bull, ma'am,”
she mimicked. “You're good, Nate. Very good.”

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

“Me, too. She went to get reinforcements—my father. That's unusual. Normally Mom likes to run the show unimpeded. You must have her flustered if she's going for help.”

Shannon got Nate settled at the dining-room table and brought him a beer.

“I don't like beer,” he said.

“Drink it. It's part of the persona,” she whispered, just before her mother came back into the room, her father in tow.

“Bull,” her mother said, barely hesitating on the name, “this is my husband, Sean. Honey, this is Bull, your daughter's date.”

Oh, Shannon had truly upset her mother if she was being referred to as “your daughter.” The only time that happened was when she or Mary Kathryn were really in the doghouse.

Shannon watched as her father set the steak down and her mother fussed with drinks. They kept shooting each other looks. It was that strange “couple-speak” that some couples—couples who were truly connected and meant for each other—had. Those kinds of looks carried more meaning than words.

Shannon knew that she'd never marry for less than what her parents had. She wanted someone
who could read her looks, who understood her, who would support her.

She wanted someone who would love her.

Why couldn't her mother understand that?

Her parents had set the relationship bar extremely high. But Kate—the perfect daughter, the daughter who even when she rebelled managed to retain her perfect status—had emulated her parents' relationship when she'd married Tony Donetti.

Sure, maybe they didn't seem to have as much in common as her parents did—at least not on the surface—but it didn't take much to see that they fitted together perfectly.

They'd given each other looks like those her parents shared when they'd come home for Seth and Desi's wedding. Shannon had noted those looks and envied each one.

No matter how hard her mother tried to marry her off to an acceptable man, she was going to hold out for an
exceptional
one.

The dinner was quiet for a while, then obviously Brigit couldn't stand it any more because she said, “So, Bull, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” he said in a noncommittal way around the bite of steak in his mouth.

“Which means?” Brigit pressed.

“I only work when I have to. And I've done a bit of everything. A bouncer. Mechanic. A few jobs I don't think I'd better bring up.” He chuckled as
if he'd said something funny, but Shannon's parents didn't even crack a smile.