Miss Matchmaker: A Small Town Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  “I love you too,” she says, pulling back and looking up into my eyes.

  “You just do exactly what I said and we’ll make it through this. Okay?”

  “You’ll be careful?” she asks, nervously running her hands over my clothes and fussing with the hem of my sleeve that has rolled up. “You won’t do anything crazy?”

  “Nothing crazier than I have to,” I say.

  She glares. “That’s not saying much.”

  “Hey. If I fuck this up and get hurt, it means I won’t be able to get my hands on that ass of yours again. You think I’d do anything to jeopardize that?”

  She laughs softly. “No. You do like my ass.”

  I press against her, gripping her ass with both hands so hard I lift her off the ground and snag a kiss while I’ve got her on my level. “No. I fucking love your ass, darlin’. Don’t you forget it. Now get it in that cruiser and let’s get this show on the road.”

  She pauses outside the door of the cruiser, quietly psyching herself up and then jumping inside. “I’m ready!” She calls out the window.

  “Remember. You wait for my signal. Okay?”

  “I remember. Just go!”

  I get back in the truck and pull out my cell phone. I call the city police and wait.

  “What’s your emergency?” asks a woman who sounds like she has an egg in her throat.

  “I wanted to report the location of a stolen police car. Ronnie Tate has been bragging about how he swiped it from you guys yesterday. We’re out in Wade’s Creek. His address is 515 Watercress Way, and he’s got the cruiser parked out back.”

  “Okay,” says the woman in a bored voice. “We’ll send officers out to investigate as soon as possible.”

  “How soon is that?” I ask carefully.

  “Are you in danger?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say slowly.

  “Just a moment.”

  There’s a clatter as the woman sets the phone down and I hear muffled conversation in the background.

  “Sir?”

  “Still here,” I say.

  “An off duty officer and his partner are in the area. They can be on scene in thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I say, hanging up the phone.

  I hope like hell they will really be here as fast as she says. The plan could work even if we had to wait a few hours for police to come from the city, but the faster this happens, the less chance there is of Ronnie and his goons finding us before we’re ready to spring the trap. Mila and I drive into town, but she veers left to take the long, circular road that eventually cuts into town from the south end. If everything goes right, she’ll be parked near Ronnie’s place in about twenty minutes, so I have to act fast, and hope like hell he takes the bait.

  I drive to Earl’s house first. Given that he lives on a side road, the sound of my engine is likely to draw his attention. Sure enough, I see the curtain on his window pull back when I rev my engine and get my truck turned around in his driveway. He opens the door a few seconds later, walking quickly toward me.

  “Lucas! Let’s talk, son,” he shouts.

  “We’re past talking, Earl. I’ll see you at Ronnie’s house to finish this if you’ve got the guts to show.”

  I peel out, taking special pleasure in spraying him with rubble and dirt while I spin my tires. I head straight for Ronnie’s, knowing I probably only have about fifteen minutes before Mila is in position with the cruiser.

  I pull up outside Ronnie’s house and jog to the front door. I slam my fist against the wood and wait impatiently. The distant sound of police sirens reaches my ears, but it’s too soon for the off-duty cops to be here. It must be Earl.

  I knock again. The door swings open and I’m surprised to find Cynthia. Her normally perfectly maintained hair is a mess and her eyes are bloodshot. She smells like weed and booze, and the bruises on her face still haven’t completely healed.

  “Cynthia? What the fuck are you still doing here?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “Just leave. Talking to you that night was a mistake, okay?” she says in a whisper. “I stand by Ronnie, so you can get lost.”

  “Is he home?” I ask, pushing my way inside.

  “Hey! If he finds you here, he’ll kill you!”

  “Yeah, well that’s kind of the plan,” I grumble, moving into the kitchen and looking around for any signs that she’s not alone right now. “This place is a disaster. Jesus.” I look at the coffee table, which is covered in white powder, plastic bags, and old credit cards. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like…” I say in disgust.

  “He’s going to fucking kill you,” Cynthia says making a half-hearted effort to put herself between me and what looks to be a shit load of cocaine.

  “You expecting him back soon?” I ask. As much as I hate to see my brother fall this far, I can’t help feeling some relief at the sight of the drugs. My original plan was just to push him to the edge and get him to pull a gun on me or something as the cops were arriving. But if they see all this, I won’t even need to take it that far. I try to quickly think of how I can change the plan to make this less risky, but before I’ve even had a second to put a new plan together, I hear tires crunching on the gravel out front.

  “You have to go!” Cynthia screeches, shoving my back toward the door. “Get out of here. He’ll seriously kill you.”

  I hesitate, but see no reason to take more risks than I have to, so I let her lead me to the back. His back yard is a sloping hill that leads down to the road below, where a small garage sits on the edge of his property--the same garage I planned to have Mila stash the cruiser in. Now it seems like overkill, and I consider calling the whole thing off, but then again, the police may not have cause to search his house unless they find the cop car. I figure that would give them all the excuse they need to tear the place apart.

  I look back toward the house when I hear heavy footsteps inside and Earl’s raised voice. “Where the fuck is he?” shouts Earl.

  “He left! I told you!” Cynthia whimpers.

  It makes me cringe to hear how pathetic she sounds. She may be a low life and she has made some terrible choices, but I still can’t sit back while a woman gets abused, as much as I probably should. Going back in there is a bad fucking idea, and I know it, but I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to Cynthia because of me, even if I can’t stand the woman.

  “Then why is his fucking car out front?” asks Earl.

  “I don’t know!” she cries out.

  The sound of shattering glass makes my mind up for me. I burst through the back door to find Earl standing over Cynthia, who is lying in a pile of broken glass from where he apparently shoved her into a glass end-table.

  When Earl sees me, he reaches for his holster, eyes bulging with anger. I let instinct take over, and I know when someone has a gun, the safest place to be is in their face if I can’t get away, so I charge him.

  He’s nearly got the gun raised when I collide with him, driving him into the wall and smashing a body-shaped dent into the drywall. His hand bashes against the wall hard enough that the gun clatters to the tile. I rip him from the wall by the shoulders and shove him back in again. His head bounces against a wooden beam behind the wall and his eyes roll back.

  Cynthia screams like someone is murdering her at the sight of Earl’s limp body flopping to the ground. “You killed him! You killed him!”

  I kneel to check Earl’s pulse and find it pounding away. “He’s fine. Just unconscious,” I say. “You need to leave before Ronnie gets back. I’m not going to risk my ass for you again. Consider us even for the warning you gave me about what he was planning.”

  “So you’re the one who tipped him off?” asks a deep voice from behind me.

  I turn to see Ronnie, who is striding through the front door, followed by the same two men he had with him at my ranch before. One of the burly men is guiding Mila inside by the shoulder. She gives me an apologetic look, but seems otherwise unharmed.


  “They were following us when we hit town. They cut me off before I made it here and--”

  “Shut her up!” shouts Ronnie, who suddenly looks far less composed.

  The man gives Mila a shove and she clamps her mouth shut.

  My teeth are clenched so hard together I think they might shatter, and my fingernails are digging hard enough into my palms to draw blood. I’m going to fucking kill someone.

  “Take your fucking hand off her unless you want to lose it,” I growl.

  The man scoffs, but when he meets my eye, he swallows hard and pulls his hand back.

  Ronnie steps toward Cynthia and pulls his hand back to slap her. “You could’ve ruined everything! You stupid bitch.”

  I step between them, gripping his shirt and lifting him to slam him against the wall. I’m about to smash my head into his face when one of the men grabs me from behind and pulls me back. I spin, smashing my elbow into the man, but the man behind Mila joins in now, and I can’t break free with both burly men holding each of my arms. Ronnie takes the opportunity to punch me in the stomach.

  He’s never been very strong, and the punch barely stings, but I can’t do anything except watch.

  “Mila! No!” I shout, when I see her running toward the men holding me with a lamp held like a baseball bat.

  But she doesn’t stop. She slams the lamp into the man on my right’s head. He stumbles back, letting go of my arm and giving me a chance to shake free of the hold on my arm. I kick Ronnie in the chest, elbow the man to my right, and tackle the man who is trying to go after Mila.

  The telltale metallic click of a gun being cocked makes everyone freeze.

  “Off him. Now!” Ronnie shouts aiming a matte black pistol at my head.

  I move slowly off the man, glaring at my brother the whole time. “What’s the plan, Ronnie? Shoot me? You know you won’t see a dime if you do, right? I already made arrangements for the land to be donated as a nature preserve if anything happens to me.” It’s a lie, actually. I just called a lawyer and had a will made that left the land to Mila if anything happens to me, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “No. The plan is I see how many holes I have to put in your pretty little girlfriend before you make the necessary calls to sell the land or put it in my name.”

  His arm jerks to the side. Time slows down. I see the muscles of his forearm tense and his knuckles go white. I see his eyes locked on Mila, and I know he’s going to do it. He’s going to fucking shoot her.

  I lunge to the side with all the strength I can muster, throwing my body between the gun and her.

  Orange fire and a plume of smoke explode from the barrel of the gun and I feel a dull thud in my shoulder. It feels like being punched, followed by an excruciating warmth that grows and grows until it’s like a white-hot poker has been jammed beneath my skin.

  “Fucking idiot,” says Ronnie. “Check him. Make sure it’s not lethal.”

  “Lucas!” Mila cries out, trying to come to my side but is held back by one of the men, who she swings and kicks at with all her might.

  Cynthia suddenly stands up from where she was cowering behind Ronnie. She looks at the gun with a feral sort of intensity that tells me she’s about to try something crazy. I don’t have long to think about what to do--I just know if Ronnie sees that look in her eyes he’ll hurt her. My split-second hesitation is enough time for her to rush at him and lunge for the gun.

  “What the--fuck!” he roars, as she manages to strip the gun from him. There’s a brief struggle and complete chaos as Ronnie and Cynthia wrestle for control of the gun, one of Ronnie’s thugs draws his own gun, and I move to put myself between Mila and danger, wincing against the lancing pain in my shoulder. A cold numbness is spreading from the wound as the heat fades, which I doubt is a good thing.

  Cynthia turns the gun on the man drawing his own. “Don’t move or I’ll fucking shoot you. I swear I will!” she screams hysterically. Her eyes are wide and her hands are shaking, but there’s a conviction in her features I think everyone in the room senses. She’s a woman who has been pushed to the edge and there’s nothing she won’t do now. Nothing at all.

  Ronnie puts his palms up placatingly. “Baby, come on. Be reasonable,” he says in soothing tones. He takes a step closer to her and she whips the gun back toward him, then rapidly back to Ronnie’s goon, who was reaching for his weapon again.

  The pistol kicks in her hands as she squeezes the trigger, missing the man by a wide margin and blowing a hole in the wall. Ronnie dashes toward her, strips the gun from her hand, and points it at her head just as the front door swings open.

  Two men step inside with weapons drawn--it’s the off-duty cops appearing in the nick of time. “Drop the gun!” Screams the taller of the two officers. “Drop it now! Both of you!”

  Ronnie’s men carefully put down their weapons and Ronnie follows suit.

  Relief floods through me, and all I can do is hold Mila tight. “We did it,” I whisper.

  “You’re bleeding so bad, baby,” she says, looking at the rapidly growing red stain in my shirt.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” I say with a grin.

  One of the cops keeps his weapon drawn while the taller of the two cuffs Ronnie and his men.

  “I don’t care.” she says firmly. “He shot you. We need to get you taken care of. Does this town have a doctor? A hospital? Ambulances?”

  The officers are largely ignoring us as they deal with the immediate threats of Ronnie and his men. They seem to have decided I don’t warrant cuffs yet, but I hear them radio for medical assistance.

  “There’s Doctor Kershaw,” I say. “But everyone knows he went blind ages ago and just won’t admit it. Not sure I’d trust him poking around in me for a bullet.”

  “Well, then I’m going to just have to stop the bleeding till someone comes. They always say to put pressure on it--”

  Without giving me warning, Mila practically shoves me down to lay on my back and throws her full weight into pressing both palms into my wound.

  “Fuck!” I roar, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

  “Ma’am!” says one of the cops.

  “I’m trying to help him,” she snaps. “Which is more than I can say for you two.”

  The shorter officer moves over to my side with a look of exasperation on his face. “Not that much pressure,” he says. “If the bullet’s still inside you don’t want to push it around and cause more damage. Here,” he rips a strip of fabric from my shirt and creates a makeshift tourniquet, using the pen in his pocket to twist the fabric on my arm just above the wound until it is tight.

  “An ambulance will be here soon. He’ll be fine, ma’am. Just don’t move him around.”

  To my amusement, Mila gives the officer a furious look and actually swats at him. “Don’t you tell me he’ll be fine. Look at him! He’s going to bleed to death!”

  I chuckle. “Mila. I’m fine. I promise.”

  She turns her fury on me. “Don’t you minimalize this. Don’t you dare.”

  I wisely keep my mouth shut for the next thirty minutes while Mila fusses over me, the cops take Ronnie and his men away, and they question all of us. Within half an hour, it sounds like an army of cop cars are outside, and a paramedic crew finally comes in and somehow manages to get me away from Mila, who is being adorably protective of me.

  “Are you going to fuss over me like this every time I get shot?” I ask as the paramedics move me to a stretcher.

  “Don’t even joke about that,” she says. “You wouldn’t have been shot if I didn’t get caught. It’s my fault.”

  “Hey,” I say, pulling her in for a kiss and forcing the paramedics to stop carting me. “I’m going to be fine. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, and it all worked out. Okay? So stop stressing. It’s all over.”

  She hugs me again and then bullies her way into the back of the ambulance, even though the paramedics try to tell her she can’t ride in the back. I spend th
e bumpy ride to the nearest hospital, which is more than an hour away, watching Mila and loving every second of it. Even with the paramedics prodding and messing with my wound, no amount of pain takes away from the overwhelming sense of relief I feel. It’s over.

  Ronnie is probably going to be in jail for a long, long time, and I’ve got my girl. I’ve got my ranch, and I’ve still got my cows. What more could I want?

  Epilogue

  Mila

  I close my laptop with a satisfied sigh and look out the nearest window, where I can see Lucas working in the pasture. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, just as a dark shadow passes over the ground outside, covering everything with fascinating slowness. I know I’m already adjusting to the country life, because my first reaction is that the rain will be good for the grazing pastures. That, and I’ve come to love rainy days for totally non-pasture related reasons too. They force Lucas inside, where we can cozy up and listen to the rain pattering on the roof and windows, just the two of us, together and safe.

  When the weather is nice, I can’t even keep track of all the work he does around the ranch. During his workday, he’s always fixing something, building something, taking care of the animals, and finding excuses to put his hands on me any chance he gets.

  Figuring out the whole working remote thing hasn’t been nearly as much of a challenge as I thought it would. Clients find me on the new and improved website Amy helped me set up, we schedule a video chat, and the whole interview process is handled remotely. I used to do my own search for potential matches for my clients, whether it was using dating sites, striking up conversations in public, or asking around in my relatively large circle of contacts. After everything that happened with Lucas, even that felt too deceptive. Now, I listen in while I coach my clients through breaking the ice with men in various settings.

  Once we find a man that works, I help them push past their insecurities and make the conversation happen.

  I feel better about what I do for people now than I ever have. Before, it was like I was shopping for a man. It seems artificial in retrospect. Now I’m teaching these women how to find a man who’s the right match for them. It’s like they say, you can give a woman a date and make her happy for a week, or you can teach a woman to date and make her happy for the rest of their life. Okay, I know, they definitely don’t say that. But I say that. At least, now I do.