Free Weekend Wife by Carolyn Zane Page B

her teeth with a salad fork. No. They were vagabonds. Wayfarers. Wanderers. He had to keep in mind that they had probably never even seen a salad fork before, let alone used one to eat a salad.
    He couldn’t let Emily’s stunning good looks fool him into believing that they were anywhere near ready for Roxanne. They had work to do. And plenty of it. That’s why he’d brought them here today—to practice. And there was no time like the present to begin practicing.
    Clearing his throat, Ty addressed his three new family members. “Now then,” he began, feeling like Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady. Perhaps they should start with a round of elocution lessons? The rain in Spain... Glancing at Carmen, he changed his mind. Nah. Napkins. That’s where they should start.
    Pulling his napkin off his plate, he proceeded to demonstrate how it was used in a formal situation. “The first thing you always do, after you sit down at a table, is take the napkin off the plate or wherever and put it in your lap, like this.” Feeling like an idiot, he demonstrated as the three women in his life stared at him as though he were speaking Greek. He didn’t care. They had to know this stuff if they were going to fool Roxanne.
    Smiling slightly, Emily copied his maneuvers with the napkin, and awkwardly helped Carmen do the same. Helga yanked her napkin off the plate, flapped it open, and stuffed it under her chin.
    Ty rolled his eyes and gave up. Maybe they should practice at home, where he could swear out loud.
    “Ty?” a deep male voice asked as its owner approached their table. “Tyler Newroth? Is that you?”
    Ty pulled his head up out of his hands just in time to see Denny Delmonico arrive at their table. Uncle Denny. Roxanne’s Uncle Denny. Owner-of-Connstarr Uncle Denny. Damn.
    “Mr. Delmonico! Good to see you, sir.” Smiling, Ty scrambled to stand and grasp the proffered hand.
    The short, plump, balding man pumped Ty’s hand enthusiastically as his twinkling eyes swept the table. “The pleasure is all mine, son. And please, call me Denny,” he instructed in his loud, jolly voice. “This must be your lovely wife. Roxanne told me you were recently married.” He reached over and clasped Emily’s hand in a warm greeting.
    “Looks like she’ll have no trouble keeping you in line,” he exclaimed jovially, referring to the bruise under his eye.
    “Yes, sir.” Ty shot a bemused look at the red-faced Emily.
    “You are a lucky son of a gun, Ty, old boy,” Uncle Denny said, his eyes straying to Helga. “Hoarding three such beautiful women all to yourself should be a crime!”
    Quickly snatching off her hairdresser’s cape and tossing it onto the floor, Helga preened under the male attention and held her hand out to Uncle Denny, who took it and pressed it to his lips.
    Tyler was too stunned to remember his manners. His heart was racing a mile a second. They weren’t ready! They hadn’t rehearsed! What the hell was he going to do now? Uncle Denny was actually kissing this loose cannon’s hand. Good Lord, he thought, clutching at his collar and gasping for air, he was having a stroke.
    “And you are?” Uncle Denny seemed not to notice Ty’s discomfiture or lack of manners as he gazed into Helga’s mischievous eyes.
    “His mom,” she said, and grinned devilishly at Ty.
    Ty blanched.
    “Sweetheart, are you all right?” Emily asked, wifely concern written all over her carefully made-up face. “You seem a little pale.” She reached out to grasp Ty’s arm as he sank back down into his seat.
    “Fine, honey, just fine,” he muttered.
    Denny frowned at Ty. “You haven’t been working too hard, have you son?” Turning his attention back to Helga, he said, “You must be real proud of your boy.”
    “Well, I like to think he wouldn’t be where he is today without me.” Helga winked flirtatiously up at Denny. “We haven’t ordered yet, Denny, old boy, so why don’t you sit on down with us and take a load