Cynthia tosses the file down on the dresser by my bed. “I’m sure you do your own research and all that, but I pulled a few strings and dug up as much as I could on Lucas. You can study it all tonight so we’re in better shape for tomorrow. I’m thinking we can start early. Seven-ish sound good? Great.”
I nod my head, unable to escape the feeling that I’ve just been sucked inside a bitchy, former prom-queen whirlwind and there’s no way out.
“I’m so excited to get started. Tomorrow,” I add with a touch of emphasis.
“So what’s the first step? How does this whole thing work, exactly?” she asks, half-speaking over me and clearly ignoring my subtle hint to get out of my room and let me sleep.
“Well,” I say. “We’ll have to set you up with some equipment. I don’t do hidden cameras, but I’ll have a wireless mic on you and an earpiece you’ll be able to hear me through. And…” I trail off a little, swallowing hard when a surge of guilt and confusion washes over me. I’ve never felt guilt about matchmaking until now--after all, I’m helping women find love. Nothing about my job is coercive, it’s just… I’m lending a helping hand, that’s all. Then again, I’ve never let my client pick the man, either. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. I compromised my morals on this one for the money Cynthia is promising, and the full weight of that is starting to settle down on me now that I’m out here.
“Mila?” asks Cynthia, who doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance.
I clear my throat. “Sorry, I was just saying we’ll make sure I know what’s going on and that you can hear me. After that, we just need to arrange a run-in with Lucas.”
“Good.” she taps the pile of papers. “Do your homework tonight, because I want you to be firing on all cylinders tomorrow. I’m not getting rejected by him again.”
“Again?” I ask. I have a specific line of questioning I put potential clients through, one of which is whether they’ve ever tried to date or dated the man I choose, or in this case, the man she chose. Maybe the money she was offering would’ve made me take the job even if she had told the truth, but I’m already wondering what else she lied about.
She doesn’t have the grace to look embarrassed, instead opting to wave it off with a dismissive flap of her hand. “All that matters is nobody says no to Cynthia Styles twice. I’ve been the fucking queen of this little shit town since high school, and Lucas Tate is about to learn why.”
“So I know we didn’t go into a whole lot of detail in our initial interviews, but why Lucas? I need to know as much as I can to help make this work.”
“We were high school sweethearts. I was captain of the cheerleading squad and he was the quarterback of the football team. Everyone wished they were us.”
“What happened?” I ask, mentally noting that she didn’t just lie about trying to date him, she also lied when she said she had never been in a relationship with him.
“I broke things off. I had bigger dreams than this town. I moved out to California and took the newscasting world by storm.”
I nod politely, even though I remember her file said she was the weather girl for a local station until her husband passed away and she inherited most of his money. “And when your husband passed… You decided to come back here to start over?” I ask.
She nods. “I knew marrying Jack was a mistake from the day we said our vows, but I stayed by his side anyway. When he passed away, it was my chance to make up for lost time and--” she pauses, smiling a little self-consciously. “It was horrible, the accident that took him, and I miss him so much, but you understand what I mean. We’re both women here and I can talk frankly, right?”
I give her a tight lipped smile and nod my head, even though my brain is screaming for me to do the right thing and end this while I still can. Every mental warning bell I have is going off over this woman, and I can’t shake the feeling that she’d be terrible for Lucas and I don’t even know the guy.
“So anyway, I’m back now. It’s time to put my life on the right track again Things have never been the same since I left Lucas, and I just know once we’re together again, everything will be perfect.”
I smile as politely as I can even though my stomach feels like it’s turning over. Once I’ve asked a few more basic questions, I manage to shoo Cynthia from my room with the promise that we’ll be in touch first thing tomorrow.
Once she’s gone, I sink down to the floor, staring at the far wall like a soldier who has seen too much for the brain to process all at once.
“Was that her?” Amy asks, slipping into my room.
“Jeez!” I say, jumping in surprise. “Is there just a line of people outside waiting to come in or something?”
“Busy night?” Amy asks, sitting down in front of me cross-legged.
I sigh. “Yes. And that was Cynthia. She’s worse than we guessed from her file and the preliminary interview. She’s a deluded egomaniac and no man should be put through the trial of dating her, let alone marrying her.”
“Mila…” says Amy slowly. “You’re not thinking of backing out. Tell me you’re not.”
“No. I’m just trying to decide how long I need to feel soul-crushing guilt for this fiasco. I’m thinking about forty-five years to life.”
“You can sip away your soul-crushing guilt poolside with cocktails and shirtless men in the Bahamas. If you make this match work, that is. C’mon. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I met a guy,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Here?”
I nod, unable to look her in the eye. “I met him twice, actually.”
“Mila! We’ve only been in town half a day. How the hell did you ‘meet’ this guy twice already?”
I tell her everything that happened, watching as her face darkens with every passing sentence. When I’ve finished, she leans back, resting her weight on her palms and looking critically at me.
“So you’re into him.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I’m not into him,” I protest.
“Bullshit. I could practically hear your hormones humping pillows when you talked about him. You must’ve bit your lip and twirled your hair between every sentence. You’re ankles-above-your-head in lust, girl, whether you admit it or not.”
I feel my cheeks burning, but manage to glare at her despite my embarrassment. “I’m still going to stay focused. I know the job comes first. Mr. Country can wait his turn if he’s actually interested.”
Amy raises an eyebrow. “Mila, I know I was riding you about this, but if you really aren’t up for it, we can back out. The money would be nice, but at the end of the day this is your business. You’re the captain and I’m just--”
“The statue of a naked woman at the front of the boat,” I say a little gloomily.
She grins. “Sure. As long as this statue has a pair as spectacular as mine,” she says, “My point is, it’s your call. I’ll back you up, even if I already have vacation plans lined up,” she mutters under her breath.
“No,” I say firmly. “We’re going through with this. I’ll live. I’m not going to throw away the future of our business to go chasing some guy I barely know.”
Amy exhales with relief and claps her hands together. “Whew. That’s good. Because I was just trying to say the right thing but I wasn’t sure if I’d really be able to let you throw away that much money for some rodeo cock.”
I narrow my eyes at her, shaking my head in disbelief. “I swear, sometimes I think you’re just a thirteen year old boy stuck in the body of a woman.”
“And what a body it is,” she says, standing and striking a pose that falls somewhere between ridiculous and seductive.
I laugh. “Would you please go to your room so I can sleep now?”
Amy leans down and kisses the top of my head. “You’re making the right choice. Just think about cocktails on the beach, girl. We got this.”
I smile after her, falling back into my bed with exhaustion once I’m finally alone again.
Somehow, someway, I’m supposed to keep him off my mind and get my job done, starting tomorrow. Yeah. We’ll see how that goes.
4
Lucas
I take my spot at Maverick’s by the corner, where Harriet has already set a steaming cup of coffee down for me. I don’t even need to tell her to have a hamburger sizzling up for me or that I want it medium rare. Half the reason I came here is because I don’t have to say a word to anybody.
I come here to be alone, yet I find myself hoping the city girl will come walking through the door. Pathetic.
I must look as pathetic as I feel, if the way people are looking at me now is any indication. They’re used to the old me. A couple months ago, I actually enjoyed shooting the shit with folks around town. I’d give Harry a hard time almost every day of the week because he can never seem to shave without missing a patch the size of my fist somewhere on his face. I’d put up with Harriet’s endless questions about the next rodeo or how the ranch was doing. Hell, I’d even ruffle up the Peterson twins’ hair if I had the chance.
Now I can’t bring myself to do any of it. I thought it might last a couple days, maybe a few weeks after I lost my dad. But it just feels wrong to carry on and have a good time when he’s not here, even after two months. Maybe that’s pussy talk, but I don’t really give a shit if it is. I want my old man back, simple as that. I want the life I had imagined with him relaxing on the porch while I took care of things around the ranch for him. I want our evening card games and I want him to give me shit about how I baby the cows too much, or how the chickens are going to take advantage of me if I keep letting them free range longer and longer every day.
But it doesn’t matter how much I want it, because he’s gone. Every time I think about that, I get this emptiness in my gut that feels like it’s going to swallow me up, and it just makes me want to get farther and farther away from everyone else.
Except her.
Why the hell should I feel that way about a city girl? A city girl with an attitude, no less. As much as I try, I can’t stop thinking about her, and it’s frustrating as hell. I barely know her, but maybe that’s the problem. Living out here in the middle of nowhere means you know everything about everybody. This girl is a question mark, and my curiosity about her is starting to chip away at the walls I’ve put up since dad died.
The door to Maverick’s dings and my mood immediately darkens. My little brother, Ronnie, strolls in like he owns the place. He’s got one thumb tucked in his belt and the other hand is busy making a show of taking off his cowboy hat, even though the little shit wouldn’t know which end of a cow makes milk or how to ride a horse, he sure as hell enjoys dressing like he does.
He spots me and sidles over, taking his time as he looks at everyone he passes with a cocky cast of his eyes. He’s got the same dark hair as me and some of the strong facial features that run in the Tate family, but he’s a few inches shorter than me and his little brown eyes always reminded me of a weasel.
Ronnie slides into the seat across from me and spreads himself out, setting his hat on the table. “Thought I’d find you here,” he says.
“Some detective,” I grumble, taking a swig of my coffee.
Ronnie leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “Can’t we just fucking talk?” he asks. “Does it have to be this stand-off shit every fucking time?”
“Depends,” I say. “Are you still a shit-stain?”
He licks his lips. I can already see he’s struggling to hold back his temper. But there’s one thing I know about Ronnie. The only way to get him to say what he’s really thinking is to piss him off. If I let him keep his cool, he could sell a hamburger to a fucking vegan.
“I just wanna talk,” Ronnie says with measured calm.
“Yeah, no shit. You wanna talk me into signing the ranch over to you so you can strip it and sell it off.”
His jaw twitches, but he still manages to keep the calm in his voice. “I want to do what’s best for our family.”
“Our family of two,” I add.
“It’s just a ranch. You could buy three thousand just like it for the money they’ll pay us for that land, Lucas. Think about it. What’s so fucking special about it?”
“It’s ours. It has been in the family for hundreds of years, and I’m not about to sell it. I have all the money I need already. What the hell do I need with vacation homes? You know what my vacation is? Every time I step out into the sun and put in an honest day’s work. When I slide into my bed at night and my whole body aches and it feels like I could barely take another step if I wanted to. That’s my vacation. Hard work. You want to go get soft on a beach somewhere? That’s your business, but leave me out of it.”
Ronnie slams his fist down on the table, finally losing the last shred of his patience. “Know what? Enjoy the ranch, Lucas. Enjoy every second of it, because you never know how long you’ve got left. Right?”
“You threatening me?” I ask, getting out of the booth and standing so I loom over my little brother.
He stands too but has to crane his neck a little to look up at me.
The din of conversation in the small diner dies out as everyone watches. My fingers dig into my palms and it’s all I can do to keep from punching him in the mouth. If he wasn’t family, I would’ve already decked him, that’s for fucking sure.
“Nah,” he says, relaxing his posture a little and taking a step back. “Just saying to keep an eye out is all.”
I sit back down, grinding my teeth as I clutch my coffee so hard I might shatter the mug. “Cancel my burger,” I shout to Harriet, who nods, but looks concerned.
Maverick’s is so quiet every step I take toward the door rings out loud and clear. I shove the door open and step outside, still fuming. I can’t believe he had the nerve to threaten me. My own little brother.
“Lucas!” calls a voice I recognize all too well.
I turn, looking down the sidewalk. Cynthia Styles is walking toward me with her arms open like she’s about to go for a big hug.
I grimace, briefly considering just turning and walking the other direction, but I know her well enough to understand pissing off Cynthia will just make my life even more miserable than having to talk to her.
I let her wrap her spindly little arms around me and pat her back once, using my shoulder to drive her a respectable distance from me. Truth is, just touching her feels wrong. She hasn’t made any secret of the fact that she wants to get back together, so I’m trying to be extra careful to avoid giving her the wrong message.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says.
I nod, only managing to find the willpower to quirk the corner of my mouth up just a touch--only enough to avoid being a total asshole.
Cynthia pauses awkwardly, looking down and bringing her hand up to touch her earring. She yanks her hand back a split-second later and then looks back at me, smiling unnaturally wide.
“All right then,” I say stiffly, turning to leave.
“Wait!” she calls, half-jogging to catch up to me. “I just wanted to see if we could grab coffee sometime. I…” she pauses, getting that strange look in her eyes again. “I know I’ve been difficult to put up with and I just wanted to clear the air.”
I start to shake my head.
“Lucas. Please. I’m not going to try anything. It’s just coffee. Tonight maybe? Your place?”
Even though the last thing I want is coffee with Cynthia, I know from past experience that once she digs her teeth in, she’s like a bulldog who won’t let go. If I don’t let this happen and let h
er see we’re about as compatible as oil and water, she’s not going to let up until I do. Dealing with Cynthia is like dealing with a bandaid that keeps showing up on my fucking leg. Yank it off quick and get it done. Taking it slow just makes it worse.
“Fine,” I say.
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Great. I’ll be there at seven.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Great.”
5
Mila
I breathe out a sigh of relief from my room at the bed and breakfast. She has a date, but that’s the easy part. I listen to the rustle of the mic against Cynthia’s shirt as she walks back toward the street to her car, which she parked outside specifically to wait for him to leave and catch him ‘by surprise’ on his way out.
It took more convincing than I would’ve thought to keep her from just barging into the diner and taking a spot as his table.
“I’ve got to give it to you,” Cynthia says into her mic once she’s in the privacy of her car. “I’ve got a date. That’s more than I managed last time I tried.”
“In the future, try to look more natural when you’re listening to me.” I squeeze as much cheeriness into my voice as I can manage, even though I want to reach through the microphone and strangle her. “Judging by the way Lucas was responding to you, you must have been doing something suspicious.”
“Noted,” she says with a touch of annoyance. “How do I turn all this off? I have to go to the bathroom when I get home and don’t want you listening.”
“That makes two of us. Use the button on the back of your earring.”
I hear ruffling against the mic, then the background noise cuts off. I set my headphones down and lean back in my chair with a frustrated sigh. Normally I’d be thrilled right now, but something in Lucas’ voice bothered me. He sounded familiar, but it could’ve just been the low quality audio I was getting through Cynthia’s mic. That, and he didn’t sound excited about their date.
Miss Matchmaker: A Small Town Romance Page 3
