Matching Mr. Right (Rocky Mountain Matchmaker Series Book 1)

by Baumann, Tamra

Shelby ordered two beers and while she waited, scanned the crowd again for Greg. She heard him but couldn’t see him, so she accepted her beers and made her way toward his voice. Showtime.

  Ignoring the voice in her head that laughed at her, like Nick had about Greg only wanting to play football with her, she powered her feet forward. Suddenly the crowd parted and there he was. Smiling and laughing with . . . Tiffany. Again? The woman was a leech.

  Before she could decide what to do, someone called out, “Hey, Shelby, looking good.” Ben, one of the neighborhood guys she’d grown up with—and Greg’s best friend, held out his hand.

  “I’d be glad to take that extra beer off your hands. It looks kinda heavy.” He shot her a naughty grin just as he always had. A bad boy to the bone, that one. She’d borrowed many of Ben’s antics as a kid for Chester.

  She thrust the beer out to him. Greg had a full one anyway. “Too lazy to get your own? You haven’t changed much have you, Senator Wright?”

  He laughed. “That’s why I ran for Senate. That way I’d only have to work once every six years, at reelection time. So, what’s new with you, Shelby? Found the man of your dreams or are you still pining after Greg?”

  Shelby grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “If you don’t want your wife to know about how you cheated on her during college, I’d keep it down.” Ben had been spying on her and Jo during one of their many sleepovers at Jo’s house when they were in high school. He’d overheard a conversation about Shelby’s love for Greg and he’d made her life a living hell for months. She’d made a point to find dirt on him and was still not above using it.

  Ben scowled. “We weren’t married yet.”

  Shelby took a deep drink, pleased she’d rattled him. “No, but you were engaged. And I imagine it’d still upset her to learn it was with her best friend.”

  “Okay, truce. Geez Shelby, promise you’ll never run against me for my seat. I wouldn’t have a chance.” Then he beamed his wicked but charming grin at her again before he tapped his bottle against hers. “I never told him, you know.”

  “I don’t believe you, Mr. Smoke and Mirrors.”

  He took a long pull from his beer. “Greg always won at everything when we were kids. I hated he’d beat me to you too, so I never told him, Summer Sinclair.” He held her gaze for a moment before he added, “My kid loves your books by the way.”

  A chill raced up her spine at the way he’d said her pen name. She’d never known he’d liked her when they were young, and it felt a little creepy. “I’d be happy to sign a book for him. But, now I’ve got to go find Jo. See ya.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” His hand slipped around her upper arm as he whispered, “That hot outfit tells me you’re a woman on a mission tonight, so let’s go. I want to see Greg’s tongue fall out.”

  Before she could protest, Ben dragged her toward Greg. Tiffany saw them and her frown deepened with each of their advancing steps.

  Ben pushed her forward. “Look who I found, Greg.”

  Greg smiled warmly, then leaned down to lay a soft kiss on Shelby’s cheek. “Hey, Shelby.” She begged for his gorgeous blue eyes to gaze at all the places she’d hoped, but they stayed locked firmly on her face. “Too bad for the rain, huh? I was looking forward to reestablishing our neighborhood record.” Then he turned toward Ben, “Right, buddy?”

  Ben’s lips tilted into one of his slimy smiles. “We’ll have to do that real soon. But we’d probably bore Tiffany to death if we start talking football.”

  Tiffany flashed a fake smile and batted her eyes at Greg, “Not at all. I just adore football. Especially our Broncos.”

  Tiffany was one of those women Nick talked about on the way to the country club. Pretending to like football. “So who’s your favorite player on the team?” Hah! Take that, Big Chest.

  If Tiffany’s eyes had been laser beams, Shelby would have been disintegrated. “The quarterback, of course.”

  Ben laughed. “Mine too. But your glass is empty.” He slipped his arm around Tiffany’s waist. “Let me get you a drink, darling. I’d love to hear your views on the cheerleaders’ outfits. I think they’re a little snug, myself.” He sent Shelby a wink before he left her alone with Greg.

  Shelby’s mouth went dry and her mind blanked. She, of all people, who had memorized every conversation starter known to man, had nothing. Luckily, Greg saved her.

  “So, I hear the writing’s going very well, and Jo says your matchmaking business is growing. But do you miss working for your uncle?”

  “Nope. I’m considerably poorer at the moment, but I love what I’m doing. How about you? What are your plans now that you’re home?” Well that was lame. She needed to flirt with him, not ask the same questions his parents probably asked him.

  “I’ve just accepted a job and I start tomorrow. I’m the new guy, so I’ll get the crappy shifts in the ER but it’ll be a real change to work in a modern, well equipped hospital instead of the jungle.”

  “I can imagine. But I’ll bet the native girls were sad to see you leave. None of them captured your heart, huh?” That was better.

  He laughed. “A few tried, but I outran them.” He paused and took a pull from his beer bottle. “I thought you might’ve had something going on with that Nick guy, but Jo tells me you’re between men at the moment?”

  “Nick? No we’re just . . . friends.” Although a friend had never kissed her like Nick had in his Porsche.

  “Good. He reminded me of your last boyfriend, what was his name?”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah. I never liked that guy. You’re special Shelby, and you should hold out for just the right man.”

  She always had, and she was looking right at him. “That’s my intention.” She smiled and stared deeply into his eyes hoping he’d take the hint. But he seemed oblivious to her charms, as usual.

  So, on to plan B. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to watch the game on Sunday in my uncle’s box? We have plenty of room.”

  His face lit up. “That’d be great. What time should I meet you there?”

  She needed her bat so she could knock some sense into him. How dense could Greg be? “We could ride together if you want. Save on parking?”

  “Great idea. But I don’t have a car yet, I’ll have to borrow one. I can’t make up my mind between a hybrid, or to go all electric. It’s all about the environment, right?”

  Shelby smiled, thinking of how Nick would claim it’s all about speed. “Yeah. So why don’t I pick you up? Then you can drive my new Prius to the game and see what you think of it. Twelve thirty work?”

  Someone called out Greg’s name so he lifted a finger to signal he’d be right there. “That’d be great. I’m sorry to cut this short. We’ll catch up at the game. Just like old times, right?” He kissed her cheek again. “Bye.”

  “Bye. See you, Sunday.” Shelby’s heart sank. Their old times were “just friends” times. Was she going to have to strip naked and do a pole dance for him to notice her?

  No, that’d be dumb. He might go screaming in the opposite direction at the sight of her legs.

  It was early yet, but maybe she should just call it a night. Everyone wanted Greg’s attention and her ten minutes were up.

  Shelby found Jo, who wasn’t ready to leave and said she’d find a ride, so Shelby started for home.

  Maybe her outfit wasn’t as killer as she thought? Or maybe Greg went for a more conservative look? She needed advice. From a guy. She knew just who to call.

  That’s what Nick got for being her “friend.”

  ***

  Nick rubbed his forehead as he crunched the blurry numbers on his laptop. His neck and back ached and his throat had been sore all day. And he was freezing even though he wore thick socks and sweats. Maybe he’d go upstairs and find a blanket so he could stay warm while he finished his report. He’d compiled all the things he’d learned from Shelby’s business model but hadn’t given it to his sister yet, telling himself he might learn more on his ne
xt date. But the truth was, he’d been putting it off because he felt like such a shit for spying on Shelby. It was killing him worse every day. Maybe he could find a way to get Shelby and Lori to combine their client lists without revealing his spying. The data clearly showed they’d both benefit from that. But how?

  When the phone rang, he grimaced. The shrill tone triggered an even more intense pounding in his head as he glanced at the screen. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. What’s wrong?”

  How the hell could his mother tell he felt like garbage from two words? “Bad headache. What’s up?”

  “Your voice sounds scratchy. I hope you’re not getting the flu. I hear it’s a rough one with a really high fever.”

  Nick laid the back of his hand on his forehead. How could it feel so hot when he was freezing? But he never got the flu. “I’ll be fine in the morning. What’s going on?”

  “I wanted to ask a favor. But if you’re not feeling well . . .”

  “Mom. Stop! What is it?”

  She sighed. “You always snap like that when you’re sick. We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to be near your house tomorrow morning for my yoga class, so I’ll stop by and check on you. If you’re not there, then I’ll assume you’re better, and then I’ll take measurements for the new curtains I’m making for you.”

  “I don’t need new curtains.” Those damned designer curtains currently hanging in his living room had cost him a fortune. “Tell me what the favor is.”

  “Those curtains are hideous, Nick. I’ve been telling you that since you built that monstrosity. Why you went and had it decorated professionally when I could have helped you for free is beyond me. So, I’ll use my key and either see you in the morning or I won’t. Feel better. Love you, goodbye.”

  “Love you too.” Nick tossed his phone aside. Maybe she was right. His curtains were sort of ugly.

  He plodded upstairs and found a blanket and then grabbed a pillow off his bed. After dumping everything on the couch, he powered down his laptop. His head hurt too much to be productive anyway. Maybe he’d watch some television. But first he should probably eat something. He hadn’t had anything since lunch.

  He glanced at the kitchen and sighed. Chicken noodle soup was the only thing that sounded good, but he didn’t have any.

  He could call his mom back. She’d bring him soup, but then she’d want to stay and fuss over him.

  He’d just skip dinner.

  He turned on the television and flipped through the channels. After settling on whatever was playing on ESPN, he got up and put more logs on the fire. His teeth chattered he was so cold.

  When his phone rang again he hoped it was his mom so he could ask her to bring him some soup after all. He probably did have the flu.

  The screen showed Shelby’s name, so he poked the little green button and said, “It’s early. I thought you were supposed to be wooing Mr. Wonderful tonight at his big welcome-home bash. Was that a bust?”

  “Nope, we have a date on Sunday. We’re going to the game. But why does your voice sound so funny? Been screaming at the peons at work?”

  “I think I have the flu.”

  “Or, maybe Lisa cast a voodoo spell on you?”

  He laughed. “No, and you owe me because I probably caught the bug at your restaurant yesterday. I’ll take payment in chicken soup or I’ll have to sue. Your choice.”

  “I thought you never got sick, tough guy.”

  “The clock’s ticking. What’s it going to be? The soup or my lawyer?”

  “Because I was smart enough to get a flu shot, my immune system is impervious to your nasty germs, so you’re in luck. I’ll run by the café. Do you own a thermometer?”

  “No. But I don’t need that, just soup. And maybe an éclair.”

  “I have to stop by the drugstore anyway, so I’ll get you some supplies. I have your address from your application, so what’s this month’s secret gate code to gain entrance to your exclusive, snooty enclave?”

  “Your family developed this subdivision, Shelby.”

  “Not my family, me. It was my project. And what’s your point?”

  He’d nearly forgotten Shelby had a master’s degree in business and used to work for her uncle. Somehow he couldn’t picture her being happy doing anything other than what she did now. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to leave and pursue her dreams.

  “You should probably thank me for all that commission you must’ve made when I wrote that big check for the lot. The code’s pound four-two-three.”

  “Jo’ll thank you. It’s what I used to invest in her café. See you in a bit.”

  “’Kay.” He closed his dry, burning eyes, laid his aching head onto the back of the coach, and smiled. Shelby hadn’t hesitated for a moment to come to his rescue. And if she wanted to stay and fuss over him for a while, he might just have to let her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Chester thought taking a sick day off from school would be fun. But it was icky and boring.”

  Chester’s Sick Day

  Shelby kicked Nick’s front door with her foot as she juggled the bags of sickroom supplies in her arms.

  When the huge wooden door swung open, Nick stood before her in gray sweats, thick socks, his hair standing on end, and he still looked cute. It was downright ridiculous.

  His eyebrows spiked. “Damn, Shelby. I bet Greg didn’t stand a chance once he saw you in that.”

  Okay, that answered that question. But now she was even more confused and needed his help. “All part of the plan.”

  She passed by him and then tilted her head in wonder. She’d never guess his furnishings would be so elegant. He must’ve hired an interior decorator. “Nice. But I hate the curtains.”

  “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” Nick crawled onto a barstool at the granite countertop in the kitchen and frowned as she unloaded her bags. “What’s all this crap?”

  “I’ve got nighttime liquid, daytime liquid, Popsicles, and ibuprofen.” She dug into the next bag. “Sports drinks to stay hydrated, and what all ailing men need, Sports Illustrated. Swimsuit edition.”

  Nick grunted and laid his forehead on top of his folded arms. “Just soup, Shelby!”

  “That too, Mr. Grouchy. I’ll nuke it for you.”

  After she put the soup into the stainless steel microwave, she opened the new digital thermometer. Yanking a handful of his thick hair, she lifted his head up. When he opened his mouth to protest, she stuck it in.

  “Geez, Nurse Ratched. Take it easy, will you?” he mumbled around the thermometer.

  Shelby laughed as she pulled out the éclairs and the cookies she’d thrown in at the last minute. When she opened his refrigerator to put the éclairs away, she gasped. “Seriously, Nick? It’s like a college dorm room fridge. How many different kinds of leftover fast-food containers can we stuff into an oversized Subzero?” She opened a box and gagged at the green fuzzy stuff inside.

  She gathered boxes in her arms to throw them away when he barked, “Leave it. I’ll do that later.”

  “Fine.” She tossed them all back in.

  When the thermometer beeped, she grabbed it before he could. “Holy crap, Nick. It’s a hundred and three! You really are sick.” Poor baby. She regretted being so abrupt with him earlier. “Have you taken anything?”

  He shivered as he laid his head back down. “No.”

  “We need to get that fever down.” She laid the bowl of soup in front of him and unwrapped the sourdough rolls she’d brought along. Then she measured out the medicine and poured him a glass of water. “Take these first . . . please.”

  He obeyed without complaint for a change and then slowly started in on his soup. After a few bites he laid his spoon down. “It’s too hot. Maybe I want something cold?”

  “That’s what I figured.” She grabbed one of the strawberry Popsicles she’d brought. “Try this.”

  When he placed it into his mouth, he sighed. “That’s good.”

  While
he ate, she climbed up next to him at the bar. “In my experience, there are two kinds of sick men. A) the ones who tell you to go away because they hate to be coddled and B) the ones who tell you to go away because they hate to be coddled but don’t really mean it. Which are you?”

  Nick finished off his Popsicle and frowned. “Somewhere between A and B.”

  “Right. No simple A or B for you.” She hopped down and put the leftover soup away, then wiped down the counters. “Want me to stay and watch a movie with you?”

  “I guess. But no chick flicks.”

  “I think the Romance Channel is running a marathon tonight.” Not really, but it was too perfect a teasing opportunity to pass up.

  “Dammit, Shelby!” He moved to the living room and flopped onto the huge leather couch. “I can’t take one of those tonight.”

  Dammit Shelby seemed to be his favorite moniker for her. Strangely, it was growing on her.

  “Like you could take one of those movies any night? You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.”

  “Proud of it.”

  Shaking her head, she grabbed the remote, slipped off her boots and settled in on the matching loveseat. They were big, oversized couches. Man-sized. So big and deep, Shelby’s feet didn’t touch the floor when she sat up, so she tucked them under her and settled back into the butter-soft cushions. As she flipped through the channels, Nick wrapped himself up in his blanket, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on his shivering.

  She searched for something they’d both like because she felt sorry for him. He had to be miserable with that high a fever.

  When his shaking became more violent, he snapped, “I need your body heat!”

  Her finger froze over the remote. “And just how would I provide that particular service, Your Highness?”

  “Come over here and lay beside me.”

  When she hesitated while trying to decide if that was a guy move to get his hands on her, he said, “I’ve got a fever of a hundred and three. It’s not like I’m going to molest you!”

  He had a point. But he didn’t have to yell about it.

  She moved to his couch and slipped under the blanket. With her back to his chest she tried to maintain a respectful distance, but he laid his hand on her stomach and pulled her against his big body. It wasn’t a hardship spooning with Nick, he was built. But he wasn’t Greg, so she should probably try not to enjoy it so much.