Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Oh, shit. Welker’s mother?

Moira had heard from a number of sources that she was a tough woman; a ball-buster. And with Welker being her only son, she took championing him to a whole new level. Especially after his precipitous discharge from the Navy.

At least that’s the scuttlebutt Moira had gleaned from his buddies.

“How are you going to introduce me?”

Moira wasn’t surprised her voice shook. She’d had little or no experience with mothers. Not having one herself, and with her friendships being limited, her close-up encounters with moms had been scant. Mason’s mother Ellen Sothard was the exception. That woman was awesome, and loved everybody, so Moira had allowed her to get close, and she’d never regretted it.

She had a feeling Mrs. Vestore was going to be a different story.

“As my girlfriend, of course,” Welker stated nonchalantly.

Moira nodded.

This might be a defining moment.

Moira didn’t know what she expected when Welker opened the door three minutes later, but the diminutive, red-haired lady standing on the steps was not it, and had her blinking. Because when Moira thought red, she meant, red . Mrs. Vestore’s hair had been dyed the color of candied-apples, which not only defied nature, but screamed warning , danger , like a crimson strobe.

“Welker,” the woman purred, striding through the door to embrace him.

He bent his head and kissed her crown. “Mom.” He was smiling, so he must not be too worried. “Don’t tell me. The reason for your impromptu visit is because my sister has a big mouth.”

“No,” his mother corrected, pulling back and reaching up to take his face between her palms. “It was actually Sabira. Not that I’m happy you didn’t tell me about your new friend, first, but I was certainly curious when Sabi voluntarily gave me the scoop. I think she’s glad she’s finally not the sole focus in my quest for grandchildren.”

Moira swallowed her spit the wrong way and began coughing.

What the hell ? She and Welk had just started sharing a bed, and only today had decided that she’d move in. His mother was already thinking wedding bells and…procreation?

Up until being with Welker, Moira had only ever thought about sex as something you did to keep a partner assuaged while dating. She’d only just found out it could also be mind-blowingly hot. Now she needed to switch things up again and imagine little sperms and eggs cavorting together?

Hell, n ?—

She blinked over at Welker.

Well? Maybe?

Suddenly the idea wasn’t exactly abhorrent. Tiny little boys with spiky blond hair and piercing dark eyes…

“…so I decided to take things into my own hands and see for myself.”

Moira snapped out of her daydreaming to catch the tail end of what Mrs. Vestore had been saying, but she got the gist. Welker’s mother hadn’t wanted to wait any longer for an invitation from her son. Well, two could play at that game. Moira wasn’t going to wait on the bemused man for an introduction, either.

She drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, sticking out her hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you Mrs. Vestore. I’m Moira Bliss.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, eschewing Moira’s gesture like it was a poisonous viper. “First of all, young lady,” she huffed. “I’m Bette. And second, if you’re going to be my new daughter-in-law, hugs are the only acceptable form of greeting.” It was stated acerbically, which was confusing. Her words, gestures, and facial expressions were diametrically opposed.

The little woman minced forward as if she hadn’t just muddled Moira’s brain, and wrapped her arms around Moira’s waist, laying her head right onto Moira’s unfettered chest—because who knew she was going to need a bra—giving her an enormous squeeze that belied her size.

Moira was shocked. She’d expected…censure? Disdain?

Once Moira got her brain past the bite-then-purr switch-up, she didn’t know quite what to do with her arms. She ended up giving the woman awkward pats on her back.

“Uh…okay?” Moira sent frantic eyes to Welker, who looked to be on the verge of hysterics.

Right. Big help .

“I’ll just be a minute,” Welker choked. “I’m, uh, going to go light the grill.”

Or more likely have a laughing fit once he cleared the door.

Sure. Abandon ship, now. Coward.

He scooted away as if his ass were on fire.

“Would you…? I was just…” Moira blinked a few times to regroup and address Mrs. Vest… uh, Bette. “I have porkchops marinating, and there’s enough for you to stay for dinner if you like.”

Shit. Had the woman come to spend the night? Moira didn’t see any luggage, but for all she knew, Welk’s mother kept a stash of clothes somewhere in the house.

“I’d love to stay and eat with you.” Bette pulled back and beamed. “But I can’t be too long. My bridge group is getting together later tonight for some slams ,” she smirked. “And I don’t just mean our scoring bonuses.”

Those were all gobbledy-gook words to Moira, but Welker hmphed as he reentered the room and shook his head, clearly having heard his mother. “Mom? You’re not planning on driving, I hope,” he admonished. “Last time you got so obliterated and belligerent that Edna Baker had to forcibly take your keys.”

“Oh, Edna is an old curmudgeon,” Bette laughed. “But no. Actually, my new beau will be giving me a ride home,” she said smugly.

“Great.” Welker rolled his eyes. “Is this Dave, or Gerry?”

“Phttt. Neither. I got rid of those two weeks ago. My new squeeze is Greg, and he might just be a keeper.”

Bette winked at Moira.

Welker had been moving them slowly toward the kitchen as the conversation continued, for which Moira was glad. She was way out of her depth, and as soon as they hit the room, Moira began fussing with the food, which gave her something to do with her hands. She ran water into a pot and put it on the stove to boil.

Welker continued. “I’ll want Greg’s last name so I can look into him.”

Bette’s laugh tinkled merrily. “Of course you do. But honey, I can read ‘em, and this guy is a gem. He’s a retired firefighter, and still keeps in shape, if you know what I mean.” She winked again.

Welker groaned. “TMI, Mom. But I’ll still want his contact info.”

Bette patted Welker’s arm and nodded. “You’re a very good son.” She clapped her hands together. “Now.” She turned her attention to Moira, in a way Moira imagined would be just like a shark, if a shark wanted to pull your brain apart before it ate you. “Tell me about yourself.”

Moira had never been given the third degree by a date’s mother before, and didn’t exactly know how to proceed. And all this, right after she’d had her mind short-circuited by multiple orgasms. Moira had to fight down a blush at what Bette would have seen had she had access to the house a few hours earlier.

Welker intervened.

“Mom. If you must, ask specific questions so Moira isn’t left floundering.”

Even though it wasn’t the actual save Moira wanted, Welker’s mild mediation was at least something.

“Okay.” The woman hopped up to perch on one of Welker’s bar stools. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, close by,” Moira offered tentatively. “In Bar Harbor.”

“That’s nice. Do your parents still live there?”

Moira busied her hands peeling potatoes, cutting them up into small pieces to cook quickly in the now-simmering water.

“Umm. My father does,” she finally offered.

“Oh. Your mother lives somewhere else?”

“You…could say that.”

Moira swung her hair in front of her now red face, and plated up the raw porkchops. She then turned to wash her hands before burying her hot cheeks in the refrigerator to take out fresh asparagus.

“Ah, I see,” Bette guessed. “She’s no longer in the picture.”

Moira decided to be honest. Welker knew her secrets, and if she was going to remain in his life for any length of time, his family would find things out about her soon enough.

“She was never in the picture,” Moira stated, trimming the asparagus with a vengeance. “I was raised in my father’s household.”

She tossed the asparagus into a non-stick skillet with some minced onions, olive oil, and smashed tomatoes, then covered the medley to steam.

“Hmm,” Bette stated, looking at what Moira had just put together. “I may have to bring you one of my cast iron pans,” she mused, changing the subject.

Had she offered because she’d sensed Moira’s discomfort?

“Oh, right, Mom,” Welker interjected sarcastically. “I’ve been asking you for one of those for years, and all I’ve gotten are excuses. Now you’re changing your mind?”

“Don’t be rude, Welker,” Bette stated. “Moira’s obviously never had a mother-figure before, so I’m making it my duty to clasp her to my bosom, and what better way to do that than with a fine piece of cookware?”

Moira couldn’t help it. She snorted. Then laughed. “Oh, my God. Is that what mother’s do?” she finally managed.

“Among other things,” Bette replied astutely, her whole demeanor softening. “You’re under my wing now, young lady, but be warned, I’m not a hands-off kind of woman. I will be mothering you from here on out, because that’s just how I roll.”

Moira didn’t know whether to be amused, or scared for her life. Something told her that Bette would get to the bottom of every secret she’d ever had, and there would be nothing she could do to stop it.

“I’ll, uh, just…take these chops out to the grill,” Moira stated, picking up the plate to save herself.

Bette played her first mom card. “Let Welker do it, Moira. That way we can continue to talk.”

Moira sent Welker a pleading look, but he just smiled and shrugged, holding out his hand for the platter.

“Fine.” Moira thrust it at him with a look that said, later, buddy . He was going to be in so much trouble.

Bette started up the minute the door closed behind Welk, but it wasn’t a continuation of her previous interrogation.

“I’m so pleased for you and Welker,” Bette started sincerely. “I had to see for myself, but Sabira was right. I’ve never seen my boy so happy.”

Moira continued to fuss with the vegetables, then turned to grab plates out of the cupboard with which to set the table. “We’ve only just started…dating,” she warned the woman as she placed the settings around the kitchen divider. Moira was still trying to come to grips with the fact that their fast-tracked relationship might just be serious, on both sides.

“How much has Welker told you about his past?” Bette posed sharply.

“Uh, a lot?” Moira answered uncertainly. They’d been sharing quite a bit over the past week, culminating with the conversations they’d had in bed, earlier.

“So you know how he got his scar.”

“I do.” Moira was on safer ground with that question. Welker hadn’t seemed particularly upset talking about his old injury.

“And do you know that because of it, he felt the need to work his way through as many women as possible to make sure he was still man enough for the female sex?”

What ? That was news to Moira. Not the part about Welker having a revolving bedroom door. She’d known that. Hell, she’d been one of the team who’d teased him unmercifully for his nonselective dick.

But what was this about Welk doubting himself?

“He…didn’t mention the lack of confidence part,” Moira admitted. “Are you sure? I’ve never seen him look uncertain before. He has a reputation with the team for flaunting an unflagging ego.”

Bette waved a hand around. “All an act,” she said, her face growing stoic. “When he was first let go by the Navy, he was filled with insecurities. He worried he’d never be able to relax his vigilance again. He was concerned he wouldn’t be worth anything to anybody, including women. It took months for his sister and me to get him to leave the house. And even after that, when he dared go to school, graduated with honors, then passed his exams to become an officer with the BPD, he still harbored his doubts.”

“Well, that’s just awful,” Moira returned, appalled. “What changed?”

“Well, first he was taken under Mason’s wing,” she said with a satisfaction that was unmistakable. “Mase let him know his worth, then introduced him to that group of boys who are now his best friends.”

Moira almost snorted at the term “boys”, but she was too vested in Bette’s story to interrupt.

Bette kept going. “Mike, Kyle, Cisco, and Doug brought my son back to the world of the living. But what they couldn’t do, was assuage the hit he’d taken to his masculinity which was still dogging him, so he started trolling the bars.”

“And you know this because…?” Moira didn’t understand anything about mothers, but she was pretty certain men didn’t share their fuck-business with their matriarchs.

“Because his sister told me. And because I have eyes,” Bette responded. She glanced to the door. Seeing Welker still busy at the grill, she continued. “His friends were only part of the healing equation. I guess those anonymous women were another. But…” This is where Bette smiled. “Several months ago, we noticed a change in Welk. Callie, Sabira, and I talked about it at length, but it seemed Welker’s catting-around days had, inexplicably, come to an end.” Bette threw a sly glance at Moira. “We had our suspicions that maybe his attention had turned to someone who could be more…permanent in his life.”

Moira gave a huge gulp while dredging the potatoes out of the water one-by-one to send them through Welker’s antique ricer. “You know we’ve only been seeing each other for a week,” Moira reminded her.

“I know. But he’s had his eye on you for a lot longer.”

Welker had said she’d been a person of interest to him for a while. But to know he’d stopped seeing other women because of her…? That was enough to make Moira tear up.

Never, had a man put her above anyone else, and even when Welker had professed his love for her earlier, Moira had just assumed he meant it for now . She didn’t expect to be his be-all and end-all until death-do-they-part.

Her supposition, as far as her past had taught her, was just simple math. People were added to her life, people were subtracted. She’d never been special enough to be the complete answer to anyone’s equation.

“I…don’t know what to say,” Moira finally managed, stirring butter and milk into her potatoes.

“There’s really only one more important thing to share, Moira.” Bette laid out her final question. “Do you love my son?” She pierced Moira with the same, dark, intense stare as Welker’s.

“I do,” Moira admitted, a tear escaping from the corner of one eye. It was a lot to take in. A man who loved her. A mother willing to open her arms.

Bette’s face took on the look of someone close to tears, as well. She reached over and squeezed Moira’s arm. “Welcome to the family, Moira.”

They both sniffed.

The moment lasted a mere few seconds before Bette got an impish look in her eyes that told Moira the tough stuff was over.

“Now can we talk about my future grandchildren?”