My Lucky Groom

case, while Elisa clutched a soccer ball. Ventura’s eyes flitted to the GPS, thinking things weren’t going too badly. They were nearly to their first destination and hadn’t had a mishap yet. Not only that, the kids appeared to be finally warming up to her.
    “We want Jason!” Ricky whined suddenly out of nowhere. She checked her mirror to see his little lips pushed out in a pout.
    “Jason’s writing a business proposal,” she said evenly. “I already told you.”
    “What about us?” Ricky asked combatively.
    Ventura spoke in an effort to reassure him as well as herself . “Your dad thinks I can handle that,” she said, bringing their vehicle to a halt at a traffic light.
    Seconds later, Ricky yelped. “Stop!”
    Ventura glanced in the backseat to see Elisa grabbing Ricky’s violin case.
    “Elisa, be nice.”
    She defiantly met Ventura’s eyes, then bopped Ricky over the head with her soccer ball.
    The boy hollered, “Ow!”
    “Elisa!”
    A horn blared behind her, and Ventura saw the light had turned green. She drove forward just as the SUV’s wireless phone began ringing. She pressed a button to answer it, thinking it might be Richard or Jason.
    “He pinched me!” Elisa yelled.
    “Ricky!” Ventura said.
    “Ventura?” It was Charles on the other end of the line. “Is this a bad time?”
    “She’s a meanie!” Ricky hollered from the back. “Meanie-Meanie Jelly-Beanie!”
    Just then, several more horns blared, and Ventura rammed her foot on the brake. The SUV skidded forward and dragged to a stop, inches shy of hitting another car’s bumper. “The worst,” Ventura told Charles, breathless with fright. “I’ll have to call you back.”

    Two and a half hours later, Ventura limped from the SUV, feeling like she’d just emerged from Boot Camp.
    Jason paused on the steps to Richard’s townhouse, clutching an express mail package. “Everything all right?” he asked, studying Ventura unsurely.
    “Oh yeah, fine! Just fine,” she said, tugging each of the children by the hand and leading them indoors.
    His eyes flitted to the curb to survey the SUV for damage, before his face became awash with relief. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” he told her, scampering away.
    Ventura herded the kids upstairs and toward their rooms.
    “Now remember to change quickly!” she told them. “Your clothes are all laid out for you on your beds.”
    The kids disappeared, and Ventura picked up the heavy laundry basket on the floor with a sigh. Did the wash never end around here? She’d put everything away except for Richard’s clothes. She’d do that now while Elisa and Ricky were getting ready and before Richard came home. Ventura strode to the master suite, thinking things were coming along. She’d figured out her new cell and had already memorized the children’s schedules. This made it easier for her to plan out her day, when she had a good grasp on the order of her duties.
    Ventura was halfway through the door when she stopped short. There, straight in front of her, standing half-nude before his dresser was…Richard!
    His chest was muscled and broad, taut abs constricting. “Ventura,” he said, turning toward her with a jerk. “What are you doing here?” He wore crisp white shorts, tennis socks, and shoes. A tennis racket case lay on his bed. His very big bed. The one he probably slept in half-naked—at least.
    Ventura swallowed hard, her face on fire. Her palms pooled with sweat, loosening her grip on the basket handles.
    “I was just putting away the laundry,” she offered lamely.
    He glanced at the basket in her hands. “I see.”
    Ventura felt something weighty smack her left foot and looked down to see she’d dropped the basket. It spilled over, balled-up pairs of socks escaping in all directions. “I’ll get that,” she said, mortified.
    But as she raced forward, so did he. “It’s all right. Let me.”
    Before she knew it, Ventura’s toe caught on— oh please, not that —a pair of Richard’s plaid boxers, and she stumbled forward.
    “Ventura!” he called, reaching out to catch her.
    “Richard!” she screeched, crashing into him.
    He grabbed her around the waist and shored her up, steadying her frame against his gloriously rock-hard chest.
    “Are you okay?” he asked, looking down at her with deep dark eyes.
    She nodded and collected herself. “Yeah,” she said, barely breathing the word.
    “Good.” He straightened her, then let her go.
    “I’m so