Mother Knows Best

by Barbara Bretton

  Mother Knows Best

  A Contemporary Romance Novel

  (first published in print by Harlequin)

  by

  Barbara Bretton

  Praise for USA Today Bestselling Author Barbara Bretton

  "A monumental talent." --Affaire de Coeur

  "Very few romance writers create characters as well-developed as Bretton's. Her books pull you in and don't let you leave until the last word is read." --Booklist (starred review)

  "One of today's best women's fiction authors." --The Romance Reader

  "Barbara Bretton is a master at touching readers' hearts." --Romance Reviews Today

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 1989, 2012 by Barbara Bretton. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by Barbara Bretton

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Excerpt from A Soft Place to Fall

  Excerpt from At Last

  Excerpt from Charmed

  Link to Fire's Lady

  Excerpt from I Do, I Do . . . Again

  Excerpt from The Marrying Man

  Link to Midnight Lover

  Excerpt from A Skillet, A Spatula, and a Dream

  Chapter One

  "Upset? Why should I be upset?" Diana Travis tossed the last suitcase into the back of her rented station wagon then turned to face her sister. "The fact that I have ten pounds to lose, a book deadline, and an ex-husband who's marrying a twenty-two year old pregnant cheerleader is nothing to get upset about."

  "I know what you're doing," Paula Bradley said, shaking her index finger at Diana. "You're trying to make me feel guilty. I'm not to blame for the weight, the book, or Jack's indiscretion but I am giving you a month gratis in the glitzy Hamptons. I have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. What I meant was, I think you're upset about taking the girls and Boris with you."

  "Wrong again, sister dear." Diana glanced fondly at her twin nieces, Kath and Jenny. "The girls are the least of my worries. Taking care of children is easy if you're organized."

  Paula made an unpleasant face. "Try being organized in the face of double diaper rash, double tantrums, and double doses of 'me first.' Not even you, Ms. Happy Homemaker, can cope with all of that and stay sane."

  "Taking care of the girls is a piece of cake. What I want to know is, who on earth is Boris?"

  "A mynah bird," Paula mumbled, eyes darting away from Diana. "He goes with the house."

  "A mynah bird? Forget it," Diana said, appalled. "I have a cat."

  "Ignatius isn't a cat; he's his own zip code."

  "In my present condition, I don't appreciate fat jokes. Besides, I don't think Ignatius would make a good bunkmate for a mynah bird."

  "Don't worry," said Paula, shaking her head ruefully. "Boris doesn't bunk with anybody. He has his own room."

  Diana groaned and leaned against the fender of the Cutlass. "I knew I hated the Hamptons. Next thing you'll tell me Boris has a Rolls-Royce and his own driver."

  "Laurence is eccentric," Paula said, "but he isn't crazy. He just happens to be very fond of Boris."

  Laurence McClellan was New York City's premier drama critic. Paula's husband Art handled Laurence's legal matters and when Paula heard McClellan planned to rent out Gull Cottage for the summer, she twisted her husband's arm into reserving the month of July for them.

  "If he's so fond of Boris, why didn't he take the bird with him to England?"

  "Quarantine laws," said Paula. "Besides, he'll be back any day now and on his way up to Vancouver."

  "I'll have Boris shipped Federal Express."

  "Canada has a quarantine law, too."

  "I'll arrange for Boris to spend the month with a bird sitter."

  "You don't understand, Diana: you are the bird sitter. That was part of the deal Art made. How else do you think we could afford a place like Gull Cottage?"

  Both extortion and embezzlement had crossed Diana's mind but she kept her own counsel. "Okay, you have me cornered. I'm babysitting a bird this month. What do I do for him?"

  At least Paula had the decency to look sheepish in her triumph. "It's really very simple. I have a list of things he eats, the music he likes -- "

  "Van Halen is out and if that bird thinks he's listening to Lionel Richie, I'll -- "

  " -- and the name of the vet Laurence uses. I tucked it in with the girls' health records."

  "Are you sure you and Art really have a chance to go to Monte Carlo and this isn't a complicated plan to escape babysitting a mynah bird?"

  "Would I have spent so much on the beaded strapless if I were hiding out in the Holiday Inn off the Expressway?"

  "I just wish you'd told me about Boris before."

  "Are you crazy? Do you think I'd give you a chance to figure a way out of this arrangement? Besides, I know you: you'll have that bird on a schedule before the first sunset."

  Bringing order to other people's lives was what Diana did for a living. As the woman behind Mother in Mother Knows Best, a nationally syndicated column of household hints and sage advice that had swept the country and turned her own life upside-down, Diana was riding the current of success.

  Her mother, Peggy, had written the column for twenty years with modest success and when she married an Irish nobleman and retired to his castle near Dublin, she handed the column over to Diana who'd been struggling along writing confession stories and how-to-change-your-own-sparkplug articles and praying for her big break.

  Fortunately, Diana recognized her big break when she saw it and within three months, she had turned the column into a combination of Dr. Ruth and Heloise's Helpful Hints and zoomed straight to the top.

  Mother could take grape juice stains out of an antique lace wedding gown. She could eliminate diaper rash with a wave of her hand. Canine bad breath, the mystery of sock-eating clothes dryers, and why long-stemmed roses died within twenty four hours while dandelions lived forever -- Mother had the answers and she delivered them five times a week and twice on Sunday right to the front doorsteps of over sixty million American families desperate to bring order to their chaotic households.

  Only problem was, the woman behind Mother didn't have a household to call her own. Divorce had followed hard on the heels of her big success and Diana had found herself going from one short-term rental apartment to another, trying on different towns the way her mother tried on hats. Three months ago on the eve of her thirty-fifth birthday she was opening a can of seafood buffet for Ignatius when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the door of her microwave oven and shuddered.

  Somewhere along the way she'd made a wrong turn, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out where. Paula, the flightier of the two sisters, had ended up with a loving husband, two beautiful daughters, and a big Colonial house in the hills of New Jersey.

  Instead of a handsome
husband Diana had an overweight Abyssinian cat with poor table manners. Instead of warm and loving dinner-time conversation, she had Vanna and Wheel of Fortune. The house of her dreams existed solely in black-and-white in her daily newspaper column.

  What had happened to her rose-covered cottage with central air-conditioning and an attached garage? Where were her 3.2 children? Suddenly it seemed her biological clock was ticking louder than Big Ben.

  Ignatius, tethered to a leather leash, howled his dismay at being treated like a common house cat. Ignatius disliked everything and everybody except food and Diana, in that order. There was nothing like a spoiled Abyssinian to push all thought of biological imperatives from a woman's mind and bring her back to the matter at hand.

  It took a good half-hour to get the twins into their car seats and another fifteen minutes to reassure her sister that yes, Diana would obey all speed limits, lock the doors at night, and have Paula's Monte Carlo address and phone number tattooed on her forehead for future reference.

  "Why don't you go to East Hampton and I'll go to the Riviera," Diana suggested. "That's the fifth time you've told me Kath hates peaches and Jenny loves grapes."

  Paula's voice was huffy. "You're not a mother. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

  "Congratulations. You've now taken separation anxiety to Olympic levels. I'm your older sister, remember? I'm the one who taught you how to burp and diaper these two monsters. I think I can be trusted with them."

  "Burping and diapering are a far cry from full-time mothering."

  "I know. That's one of the reasons I'm looking forward to spending a month with them. I need the practice."

  Her sister's eyes widened. "You're not -- "

  "No, I'm not." Diana flashed a saucy grin. "At least, not yet."

  Paula grabbed Diana by the lace collar of her Laura Ashley blouse. "I want his name, rank, and serial number."

  "I'll tell you everything after Labor Day."

  "Now," said Paula. "You may be older but I'm tougher."

  "There's nothing to tell."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Honest, Paula. There hasn't been a man within one hundred yards since Jack and I split. I'm going to use this month in the Hamptons as basic training."

  "Basic training?" Paula glanced at her daughters with a worried expression on her face. "What are you planning to do, invade Afghanistan?"

  "Nothing that easy," said Diana, gently disengaging herself from her sister's grip. "I intend to starve, torture, and perm myself into shape while I'm out there, finish my book, and then fling myself body and soul into the marriage market beginning Labor Day."

  Paula reached for the strap on Kath's car seat. "Come on, girls, your Aunt Diana has lost what remained of her mind." She cast a skeptical look at Diana. "Do you really think these things can be planned out in your day book?"

  "You're the one who's always telling me it's time to think about settling down again."

  "Sure, blame me for this sudden insanity."

  "You must admit you've played matchmaker more than once this year."

  "Can you blame me? I'm getting worried about you, flitting from apartment to apartment like a gypsy. Visiting family, staying with friend, helping everyone else cope with ring around the collar and diaper rash and yellow waxy buildup while that damned cat is turning into Orson Welles right before your eyes."

  "I agree," Diana said calmly. "I'm not getting any younger. It's time I thought about marrying again and starting a family."

  "It may not be that easy."

  "One word about having a better chance of being kidnapped by terrorists and I'll force you to spend a month with Boris." She met her sister's eyes. "Don't look so worried; I have my strategy all worked out."

  "Strategy?" Paula said. "I think you're more like Dad than Dad was."

  "I'll take that as a compliment." Their father Vernon had been nicknamed "The General" for his notorious predilection for timetables, deadlines, and schedules that had kept his household operating with the precision of a Swiss watch. "Such a shame you took after Mother. You might have been on time for your own wedding."

  "Art has had the decency to forget that incident, Diana. I would think my own sister could do the same."

  "Look, Paula," Diana said, patting her sister on the arm, "I'm too old and too jaded to expect Prince Charming is about to look me up in the phone book and swoop over to get me in his white Jaguar."

  "How could he when you change your address every six weeks?"

  "Be that as it may, I've studied all the books on the subject, spoken to all the experts, and once summer's over, I intend to devote myself full-time to finding a husband and -- not incidentally -- a father for my child."

  Paula shivered. "I hate when you talk like that. You sound so...."

  "Practical?"

  "Calculating."

  "Thank you again. This is important to me and I think it deserves my full consideration."

  "Has it occurred to you that this plan of yours may fail?"

  Diana shook her head. "Never. Believe me, nothing can go wrong. After Labor Day, I intend to find a husband and by this time next year you'll be planning my baby shower."

  Paula's look of disbelief was hardly flattering. "You realize there are other ways to have a child these days, don't you, Di? You don't necessarily have to throw yourself headlong into marriage. If your clock is ticking that fast, maybe you should have a talk with Doctor Stein and -- "

  "I don't want to talk with Doctor Stein. All I want is to meet a wonderful man, fall madly in love, and have his baby. Is that so much to ask?"

  "And you probably expect your career to continue zooming right along, don't you?"

  "Motherhood doesn't affect the brain cells, does it?"

  "Jury's out. I'll let you know when the twins hit puberty." Paula shot her the kind of sharp look that used to work when they were teenagers. "Your problem is, you want it all."

  "Doesn't everyone?"

  "Of course, but you believe you'll actually get it. If you weren't my sister, I think I'd hate you."

  "If I weren't your sister, we wouldn't be standing here having this ridiculous conversation while the girls drool all over their car seats."

  Paula's pretty face was awash with earnest concern. "You're unrealistic, Di. It's all about compromise, whether you like it or not. Nobody has it all and you're crazy if you believe you'll be any different."

  "I know I'll be different," said Diana as she coerced a hissing Ignatius into his cat carrier and placed it on the front passenger seat. "It's simply a matter of good planning."

  "Haven't you heard?" asked Paula, a wry tone to her voice. "The best part of life is the part you don't plan."

  "Then I'm out of luck because I have my life planned right up to the day I start collecting Social Security."

  Paula shuddered. "How depressing. I couldn't exist without the element of surprise."

  "I know," said Diana. "You were surprised to find yourself engaged to Art; you were surprised to find yourself married to Art; and, you were surprised to find yourself the mother of twins by Art. So far, you're batting a thousand." How her sister could manage to seem so happy in the middle of utter chaos was beyond Diana. Paula seemed to float on a current of total bewilderment that boggled the mind.

  Diana didn't believe in chaos; she believed in schedules and lists, in prioritizing and compartmentalizing all the minutiae of life and right now she was determined to care for her nieces, meet her book deadline, get a tan and lose ten pounds.

  As Mother always said, you could even eat an elephant if you did it one bite at a time.

  "You'll call me the minute you get to the house," Paula said as she kissed her daughters one last time and made certain their seat belts were securely fastened over their car seats. "Mrs. Geller will meet you in front around six to give you the keys and explain how everything works."

  "I hope she'll be able to explain this mynah bird I'm saddled with."

  "Look," said Paula,
looking wonderfully guilty, "Art and I didn't know about Boris until last night. There's nothing wrong with this deal, Diana, honestly. It's a gorgeous, modern house with a view of the ocean to die for and a price you wouldn't believe. We'd be going there ourselves if this business trip hadn't popped up."

  "Monte Carlo in July. Some people will do anything to escape a New Jersey summer."

  "I knew you'd understand." Paula kissed her on the cheek and shooed her into the station wagon. She took another longing glance at her daughters who were fussing in the back seat. "They look unhappy. Maybe they need changing."

  Diana sighed loudly. "They were just changed ten minutes ago, Paula. They're fine."

  "You'll remember to child-proof the beach house the way I told you?"

  "I did three columns last month on child-proofing a home. Unless these kids are junior safecrackers, they don't stand a chance at getting into trouble."

  "Writing a column and actually doing it are two different things, Di," her sister pointed out gently. "It may not be all you think."

  Diana slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. "What better way for me to discover the joys and pitfalls of motherhood than by living the experience? It will be good practice for the real thing."

  "There is no practice for the real thing. It's strictly baptism by fire."

  Diana glanced at her watch. "If I'm going to make it to the Hamptons before six, I'd better hit the road."

  "You're certain you know how to get there?" Paula asked. "Maybe you should have flown from Newark Airport to Islip and rented a car on the Island."

  Diana gestured toward the computer-generated map taped to the dashboard. "Courtesy of IBM and Rand McNally. I couldn't get lost if I wanted to."

  "The key to everything is the Riverhead exit," Paula persisted. "Make sure you head toward the South Fork, not the North."

  "Stop worrying," said Diana, irked by her sister's apparent lack of faith. "Besides I have a fantastic sense of direction. I made a trip through the jungles of Peru. How difficult can Long Island be?"

  "It's not the terrain that worries me," said her sister. "It's your traveling companions. They can be extremely disconcerting."