Let's Get Mommy Married

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  About The Author

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Copyright

  How I intend to get mommy married by Danny gallagher (age 11)

  1) Enter the contest Mom’s matchmaking service is running—but use a different name ‘cause she’d yell at me if she knew I was trying to win her a date for Mother’s Day.

  2) Once I win the contest, using the name Tommy Smith, fill out the dating questionnaire just like Mom would, but use the name Mary Smith.

  3) I find out who Mom’s dream date would be, which I just know is gonna be Chris Maverick, then make sure me and Mom just happen to be where Chris and “Mary” are supposed to meet for their blind date.

  4) Then, while we all wait for the mysterious Mary Smith to show up, show them how right for each other they are!

  5) If all else fails, run away to the nearest wedding chapel!

  Dear Reader,

  What to give the World’s Best Mom for Mother’s Day? Every year I try to come up with something really special. If my mom wasn’t already married, I just might steal little Danny Gallagher’s gift idea in Marie Ferrarella’s Let’s Get Mommy Married. Danny decides to surprise his happily unmarried mom with a date for Mother’s Day. Then, Mom will have a husband, Danny will have a dad…and maybe a couple of baby brothers and sisters….

  Speaking of mothers and marriage—ever thought a mother hen would come in the form of a tall, dark and incredibly gorgeous Marine? In Jo Ann Algermissen’s I Do?, Max O’Roarke marches into the Bridal Bliss boutique and orders owner Amy Brantley to cancel his baby sister’s wedding gown. But Amy’s too busy sizing him for a tuxedo he can get double use out of…

  Have a great Mother’s Day gift idea you want to share with Yours Truly readers? Send me a postcard with a brief—30 words or less—idea, include your first name, city and state, and you just might see it printed on a special page in next May’s Yours Truly books.

  I know next May is far off, but next month you’ll find two new Yours Truly titles by Carolyn Zane and Carla Neggers—two more novels about unexpectedly meeting, dating and marrying Mr. Right.

  Yours truly,

  Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Let’s Get Mommy Married

  Marie Ferrarella

  About the Author

  MARIE FERRARELLA: I’ve been writing, simply and otherwise, since I was eleven. But mentally, I’ve been spinning stories since I was old enough to string two sentences together. Television was a huge influence. For instance, did you know that the Cartwright boys of “Bonanza” had a sister? (That’s okay, they didn’t know it, either.) Her name was Kit. Marty of “Spin and Marty” also had a sister (I can’t remember her name, so I guess she wasn’t very impressive.) Zorro had one, too (Zora—I was very young at the time and not overly creative). In each case, the heroine was feisty, brave and wonderful, and yes, she was me. Writing myself into the stories always made them that much more exciting for me.

  I never lost that time-worn tradition. A piece of me, of my heart, is in each heroine, each story I write. That’s why they’re always so special to me. So here I go again, offering you my heart wrapped up in a story of love lost and then found. I hope it succeeds in giving you a little pleasure.

  To Melissa Senate, for input and inspiration Thank You

  1

  Dear K-LAS, I would like to win a date for my mom on Mother’s Day because she hasn’t had one in a long time. It’s not because she’s not pretty because she is. Real pretty. But she’s very busy, working very hard so that I can have everything I want. But I want her to have something for her. Somebody to talk to when I’m not around. I’m not going to be a kid forever and Mom needs somebody to look out for her. But don’t tell her I said so. She’s thirty but looks a lot younger and she’s got a real nice laugh. She likes old songs, old movies and to walk in the rain. Please make the guy handsome and tall, and if he plays baseball, that would be neat, too. But he’s gotta be nice to my mom because she’s the best.

  Your friend,

  Tommy Smith

  P.S. Please send your letter to me instead of my mom because it’s a surprise. Thank you.

  Asmile curved Rosemary Gallagher’s mouth as she looked at the wide, childish scrawl on the page. Touched, she placed the letter on top of the small pile of potential winners that was forming on her desk.

  What a neat kid, she thought. Who said motherhood was unrewarding? This Tommy Smith sounded every bit as precious, as wonderful, as her Danny.

  Rosemary pushed her light brown bangs out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She was going to have to remember to trim them later. There were more important things on her mind at the moment. Unless there were some really outstanding letters coming in, Tommy’s mother was going to be one of the ten winners in the contest she was running.

  She’d sorted through the deluge of letters that had been forwarded to her from the radio station and winnowed them down to approximately twenty-five. Out of those, she was going to select ten single mothers. Ten women who would win a date for Mother’s Day.

  Once contacted, the women would have to fill out the forms she had spent weeks designing when she started her business. Forms that should, as accurately as possible, match them to their soulmates.

  Soulmates, Inc., was the name of the personal dating service that she had established after cutbacks at the university had turned her from a full-time instructor on her way up to a part-time adjunct lecturer in need of a decent salary supplement. Soulmates, Inc., had been born on her kitchen counter, parented in equal parts by inspiration and desperation. After four years of hard work, it was now a thriving business that kept her more than sufficiently busy. So busy that two months ago she had invited her cousin Teri to work part-time for her.

  Rosemary leaned back in her chair and stretched her hands over her head. The motion failed to alleviate the crick in her neck. She knew why she was tense. There was a deadline breathing down her neck. She had to choose the winners, contact them, process their forms and match them with suitable candidates—all in less than two weeks if she was to successfully pull off the publicity campaign she had engineered.

  She wished Teri would get here. Even though her cousin worked only part-time, Rosemary sorely missed the extra help she provided. That and her endless chatter. Running on approximately four hours’ sleep, she felt she needed someone around to help keep her from nodding off at her desk.

  Rosemary reached for the file she normally kept next to her chair. Her outstretched fingers came in contact with air. She’d forgotten. Everything chewable had to be taken off the floor; otherwise it was quickly turned into shredded wheat via very intent puppy teeth.

  With a long sigh, she rose and crossed to the file cabinet closest to her. There were two in the kitchen, aligned beside the pantry. The piles on top of them were growing larger and larger, threatening to come tumbling down. She was just going to have to find time to get to that, she thought. She had a new computer system and needed to key in everything to streamline her operations. Why was everything designed to make things simple always so complicated?

  She heard a yip coming from the backyard. It reminded her why she’d only had four hours of sleep. As if she did
n’t have enough to do.

  God, she must have been crazy to agree to allow a dog in the house. An untrained, unhousebroken dog. It was hard enough being a single mother of a small boy without being the single mother of a small boy with a dog.

  Rosemary sighed again as she looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. There was her son, manfully trying to train a very inattentive dog. He had brought the dog—a strange mixture of shag, ears and a tail—home a week ago. He’d carried it in his arms, spouting the classic line, “Look what followed me home, Mom. Can I keep him?”

  Rosemary’s immediate reaction had been to give him a very firm no. The only dog she’d ever had as a child had been stuffed and sat in the middle of her bed. It never messed, threw up or ate her bedspread.

  Danny’s newfound dog had managed all of the above within the first few hours, but Danny’s big blue eyes had melted her resistance.

  She eyed the doggie spot cleaner that stood at the ready on her counter. It was almost half-gone. If it were up to her, the dog would be gone, as well. But she couldn’t find it in her heart to deny her son anything that was within her power to grant. It wasn’t easy for a boy growing up without a father.

  It wasn’t exactly a piece of cake for a wife without a husband, either, she thought ruefully. But she and Danny managed.

  Just like the women in these letters seemed to manage. Rosemary smiled at the growing pile on her desk. Having Danny was an immense comfort. Even if he did bring in a stray mutt to add to the pandemonium that she whimsically called her life. She wouldn’t have traded him for anything in the world.

  He added that extra something to her days. He had even inspired her to hold this contest. “Win A Date For Mom on Mother’s Day” had been her brainchild, but it was born out of something that Danny had said to her. He had wanted to give her “a real neat present” this year for Mother’s Day because she’d allowed him to keep the dog.

  Frazzled as she cleaned yet another accident from the living room rug, she’d looked up at her pride and joy. “Like what?”

  He had thought for a long moment, hugging the puppy to him. The dog had licked his face with the enthusiasm only very young puppies had. Danny’s face had lit up. “How about a date?”

  Rising to her feet, Rosemary could only laugh at the suggestion. It seemed an ironic thing to say, considering that she conducted a personal dating service out of her home.

  But then it occurred to her that there might be more little boys out there who felt the way Danny did. They wanted to do something special for their mothers, but had no money to buy anything. A date would be a very special gift. And free. The more she’d thought about it, the more she’d liked the idea.

  The publicity she’d gotten from the radio ad had increased business for Soulmates, Inc. It helped make up for the fact that she now owned a very chewed-up pair of dark brown suede boots.

  The sliding-glass door squeaked as Danny pushed it open with his elbow. His arms were filled with dog. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Okay.” The dog, dubbed Rocky by her son despite the fact that they had discovered it was a female, was all paws and wiggles, desperate to get out of the half nelson Danny had on her. Those nails needed clipping, Rosemary thought. “I could ask you the same thing. Getting her to mind any better?”

  Rosemary knew the answer to that one, but thought it might make Danny feel better if she pretended to believe that he was succeeding. Danny had always loved animals, but it was one thing to pass them on the street or to watch them on educational television specials, and it was quite another having an animal in your own home, one that made confetti out of shoe boxes—with the shoes still in them.

  “Yeah.” The answer was far too enthusiastic to be genuine. He announced it quickly, breathlessly, the way someone did when he wanted to get past a lie.

  Poor Danny. Rosemary beckoned him closer. Face level to the dog, Rosemary pulled back a little and then scratched Rocky behind the ears.

  She smiled at Danny. Hope mingled with frustration in his blue eyes. “It takes time, honey.”

  It seemed as if the tail was wagging the dog. A vibration undulated all the way up the length of the puppy. The next moment evidence of the dog’s joy rained down on her kitchen floor. Rosemary looked down, resigned. At least it wasn’t newly polished.

  “Take her out back, Danny. She obviously isn’t running on empty.”

  He nodded. Dog still in hand, he retraced his steps through the kitchen to the sliding back door. Rosemary rose and took hold of the mop, which she no longer bothered putting away. With luck, if she kept at it, the house wouldn’t smell like a barn before the dog was housebroken.

  Danny was still in the kitchen, one hand on the door, the other wrapped firmly around the squirming dog. “You didn’t tell me. How is it going?”

  Rosemary wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  “The contest, I mean.”

  The spot was erased. Rosemary rinsed out the mop and then leaned the handle against the counter. No doubt it would be pressed into service soon enough. She glanced at her son as she wiped her hands. “You seem awfully interested in my work all of a sudden.”

  Danny looked affronted, as if he’d been interested in his mother’s work all along. “Well, gee, you’re using my idea.”

  She smiled as she sat down at the desk again. “And a very good one it was, too.”

  Rosemary looked at the stacks of mail on the counter. They vied for space with the built-in burners. She moved them to a safer place. Clutter was closing in on her. Right after Mother’s Day, she was going to take a couple of days off and really clean.

  “Because of you, we’re getting a great deal of publicity for the service.” Which was true. In the three days that the ad had run on Chris Maverick’s five-tonine slot on K-LAS, daily mail seemed to have tripled.

  Like a miniature CEO dabbling in his company’s operations, Danny methodically surveyed the incoming mail, his eyes sweeping along the sorted piles on his mother’s desk.

  “So, did you pick them yet? The winners?” he elaborated before she could answer.

  She slid open a letter with the ivory letter opener that Patrick had given her for their last Valentine’s Day. Her hand curved around the carved handle lovingly. “I’m working on it.”

  Danny edged closer with the dog. Rocky began whimpering, obviously in protest at being kept dangling. Her hind legs hung down almost the length of Danny’s body. “Can I see which ones you picked so far?”

  Danny had always referred to what she did as “that mushy-making stuff.” Was her little guy growing up that fast? She placed the letter opener on the desk and studied his intent face. It looked like a miniature of her own, except with blond hair. That had come from Patrick. “You are interested in this, aren’t you?”

  His shoulders lifted and fell beneath the striped T-shirt. “Sure.” He shifted the dog to keep her from falling. “Maybe I’ll help you pick them.”

  He sounded downright eager. He was growing up. “I’ll run them past you later,” she promised solemnly. Rosemary waved a finger at Rocky. “Right now, you’ve got a little lady on your hands who really wants to christen something else. Out.” Rosemary pointed toward the door leading into the backyard.

  Struggling, Danny slid the door all the way open and then shut it again. Rosemary watched as the puppy finally leapt out of his arms and made a break for freedom. Thank goodness she’d never gotten around to planting flower beds. They’d probably all be dug up by now.

  Rosemary forced her mind back on her work. It tickled her that Danny was taking such an interest in the contest. Maybe she would get his input, just to make him feel more important. His self-esteem was very much intact, but it didn’t hurt to bolster it from time to time. At eleven, Danny was the man of the family, as he had been for the past nine years.

  Her little man, she mused. Except that he wasn’t so little anymore. He was going through a growth spurt and it wouldn’t be all that long before he would be tal
ler than she was, out on his own, getting serious about a girlfriend and—

  Rosemary stopped abruptly and laughed at herself. Here she was, marrying him off, and he hadn’t graduated elementary school yet. It was just that the days seemed to trickle by one by one and somehow the years just zipped along.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the floor near the counter.

  Speaking of trickle, she thought, she’d missed a spot. With a sigh, Rosemary rose and reached for the mop again.

  She’d just rinsed the mop out when she heard the doorbell. At this rate the contest winners would be chosen by next Mother’s Day. Rosemary checked her watch and realized that it was probably Teri, running late as usual. Teri, eight months her junior, had been born three days late. In thirty years, she hadn’t been able to kick the habit.

  Harried, looking as if the wind had seen fit to blow her in, Teri entered with a mail sack that looked as if it was more than half-filled.

  “Hi, I stopped by the post office to collect our mail.” Teri made her way into the kitchen and dropped the sack on the floor. “This contest is a hoot. I never realized how many single people there were out there, looking for someone to love.”

  Rosemary prudently picked up the sack and placed it on an empty stool. She grinned. “It’s what keeps us in business, Teri.”

  Teri, as blond as Rosemary was dark, noted the strategic replacement of the sack. “White Fang still chewing everything in sight?”

  Rosemary waved a hand. “Don’t get me started. I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

  Teri laughed as she opened the refrigerator and helped herself to a can of soda. “I do. Because you’re a pushover. But that’s okay, you’re a lovable one.” She took a quick pull from the can and then used it as an extension of her hand. She waved at the neat stacks of paper on Rosemary’s desk. The woman could make order out of a hurricane, she thought. “How’s Danny’s brainstorm coming along?”

  Rosemary nodded as she scanned the letter she had just opened. Too well worded. This one wasn’t written by any under-twelve-year-old she was acquainted with. This was definitely done by an adult attempting to sound like a child. The simple words were misspelled and the difficult ones, the ones a child wouldn’t use, were all spelled correctly.