The Matchmakers Jennifer Colgan
“Two wrongs don’t make a right, but they just might make a perfect match” Nick Garret is flypaper for females, and he likes it that way. Women stick for a while, and when it’s over they fly away. So does he. Then one rain-slick night a young woman steps in front of his pickup truck, and his jaded, cynical life takes a sharp swerve toward trouble. Calliope did the only thing she could think to get Nick to steer his truck and his life in a new direction. Banished from the Fae realm for granting a wish gone bad, her punishment is an impossible task; redeem the unredeemable Nick Garret. If she fails to help him pair three couples in everlasting bliss, he’s doomed to never experience real love. And she will share his fate as a mortal. Nick can’t decide if this charming, exasperating woman is a dream come true, or a saucy, sexy nightmare sent to drive him insane. Yet something about her makes him want to rise to her challenge. He’ll do anything to make her stick around a while. Besides, how much trouble can one half-naked, seemingly wingless faerie be?
Warning: This title contains sensual love scenes, mischievous Fae, removable wings and hot men in tool belts.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 The Matchmakers Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Colgan ISBN: 978-1-60504-596-2 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Natalie Winters All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. FirstSamhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2009 www.samhainpublishing.com The Matchmakers Jennifer Colgan Dedication
This one is for my readers. I’ve wanted to share this story for a long time and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.
Chapter One
Never trust a woman. Nick Garrett sighed and climbed into the cab of his silver Dodge pickup. He started the engine and spared the gas gauge a quick glance. A full tank would get him of town for a day or two to blow off some steam. The cash in his wallet would last him a week or so just enough time to find a new gig. There wouldn’t be any more paychecks signed by Skip Voss. He checked the rearview mirror as he backed out of Skip’s long, curving driveway. The sounds of marital strife reached him from the direction of the half-built pool house, Nick’s project for the last three weeks. Miranda Voss, Skip’s lonely, young wife, had done everything she could to distract Nick, which was why the job had taken so long. The couple hadn’t yet resorted to throwing things, but their argument would no doubt wake the neighbors and draw some unwanted attention to the sleepy little street of modernized colonials and manicured lawns. Nick wanted to be long gone before then. `Damn!´ He let out a low whistle as he adjusted the mirror for a better view of his right eye. No wonder it hurt so much. Skip’s ham-fisted right hook had split the skin above Nick’s eyebrow, and now a zigzag of dark blood had welled up in the middle of the cut. By morning he’d probably have a shiner and a headache to match. Thanks to Skip’s Harvard class ring, the jerk probably wouldn’t even have a bruise on his knuckles. The best cure for a headache and a black eye was ice, preferably floating in a glass of Jack Daniels. A shot or two at Farley’s would take the edge off Nick’s various frustrations while he decided where exactly he wanted to go. That sounded like a plan. And it beat getting arrested for brawling with a man over the affections of his wife. After the last time, Nick had vowed never to get involved with a married woman again, but within days of hiring him on as a handyman, Miranda Voss, with her gypsy-dark eyes and Daisy Duke shorts, had him snowed. Nick should have known she was lying when she’d said her husband had left her. He’d thought she’d meant forever, not just for three weeks while he went to Boston on business. This wasn’t the first time Nick had gotten caught with his shirt off and a willing woman in his lap, but it sure as hell was going to be the last. His tires screeched a little on the way out of the driveway, and his hastily packed tools rattled in the box that stretched across the back of his truck. A quick, backward glance told him Skip hadn’t decided to follow him yet, so he headed off toward the interstate and the cold comfort of two fingers of whiskey. Twenty minutes later, Ted Farley greeted Nick with a wave and a foamy glass of Budweiser. So much for Jack. A pint of his usual would have to do for now. The regular barflies bid him hello. No one except the bartender seemed the least bit curious when Nick held the icy glass up to his swollen eyebrow before taking a long, smooth draught of the beer. He closed his eyes for a moment and soaked in the clink of glasses and the familiar, smoky aroma of the place. `Rough day?´ Farley asked, leaning his bear-like bulk on the edge of the bar. `Nothing that a few rounds won’t cure.´ Nick sipped his beer. He’d probably still need an ice pack, but he felt better already. Then the music started. Behind Nick, Farley’s patrons shoved tables and chairs aside, and Catfish, the bar’s resident fiddle player, dragged an empty barstool to the center of the room. Hayden and Diane, Farley’s waitresses, yahooed as a row of men and a row of women faced off for Thursday night’s first line dance. Nick set his beer down and turned to watch. Normally he found the foot stomping and boot slapping entertaining, but tonight all that organized percussion hurt his head. Maybe he’d just go home, grab a few clean shirts and get an early start on that weekend road trip. He needed to put some distance between himself and Miranda until her husband cooled off. Then he’d need to think about moving on from Bayerville all together. As soon as he finished his beer. When he turned back to reach for his glass, it was empty. Nick looked around. Everyone at the bar had their own drinks, and no one wore a foamy mustache that he could see. Why would someone swipe his beer? `Ted?´ He motioned Farley over from the other end of the bar and showed him the sudsy glass.
`Sure thing.´ Farley refilled it and set it down. Nick stared at the frothy brew. How could he forget downing the full glass? `How’re you doin’, handsome?´ Diane danced over with an empty tray balanced on her hip, keeping perfect time to the music. She shot Nick a wink and a smile, her blond ponytail bobbing. `What happened to your eye?´ `Ah, it’s nothin’,´ Nick replied with a calculated wince, deciding the waitress’s sympathy might make a descent substitute for an ice pack and an aspirin. `I walked into a fist.´ `Aw, poor baby.´ Diane pouted sweetly and slid her tray onto the bar. `Coors Light, two shots of Jack and a whiskey sour.´ When she turned back to Nick, her smile took the sting out of his wound. `Wanna dance?´ `You’re working.´ Farley’s bushy brown eyebrows knit in a scowl as he began setting drinks on Diane’s tray. `I have a break coming up. Come on, Nick, one round?´ `Let me finish my beer,´ he said with a wink of his good eye. He turned around and closed his hand over his once again empty glass.
What the hell? His curious gaze followed Farley, who was busy stabbing Maraschino cherries with a toothpick. The large man, who normally had a smile for everyone, suddenly looked fierce and a little annoyed. Nick tracked the bartender’s gaze to Diane as she blew a kiss to Catfish. `Uh, Ted?´ Nick held up his glass again. `Would you like a straw with the next one, Nick?´ Farley sauntered over and drummed his fingers on the bar. `Bad day aside, you might want to slow down.´ `I didn’t drink it.´ Nick stared at the glass. `At least, I don’t remember drinking it.´ Maybe Skip had hit him harder than he thought. Farley clucked, and Diane hoisted her tray over her head and slithered away through the crowd. `Only because I know you can hold your beer, I’ll give you one more refill, but after
that ´ `I know I didn’t drink that second beer. I don’t even remember tasting it.´ `How many times did you get hit, anyway?´ Farley asked as he refilled Nick’s glass. `Just once.´ He’d been hit before. He knew how to take a punch, and he’d never had a sock in the eye make him lose his memory. Maybe he was just tired. He scanned the faces of the regular crowd at the bar and wondered if someone was putting him on. He wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation, so he took a slow, deliberate sip of his beer and set the glass down, keeping his hand firmly in place to discourage any wise ass from making a third attempt. He damn sure wasn’t going to run a tab and have nothing to show for it. `What’s with Diane and Catfish?´ he asked when Farley lumbered by again. The waitress was dancing around the fiddle player now, her hands in the air, clapping and stomping her thick-heeled shoes. Catfish upped the tempo of his music, and the line dancers galloped back and forth in wide steps, their hands in their belt loops, cowboy hats pushed forward and steel toed boots flashing. `Do they have a thing going?´ Farley just grunted and walked away, and by God, when Nick looked down, his glass was empty again. `Jesus H ´ He stood and whirled around, looking for the culprit. `What the hell is going on?´ No one else at the bar so much as blinked in Nick’s direction except Farley. `Problem, Nick?´ `Yeah, I think this pilsner has a hole in it.´ Farley squinted at the glass. `How about a club soda, Nick? Maybe you have a concussion.´ Nick shook his head, which only intensified the ache. Part of him wanted to argue the point, but was it really worth it? He dropped a twenty on the bar and sighed. `I should probably just go home.´ He rose from his seat. `You want Catfish to drive you?´ Farley directed another scathing glance at the fiddler. `Nah. I’m all right.´ He waved to Diane and smiled at Hayden as the younger waitress hurried by with her own tray full of empty glasses. What he probably needed more than another phantom beer was a good night’s sleep. With a nod to Farley, he left the bar. By the time Nick reached the Interstate, rain cascaded over the windshield in rippling sheets that made the wipers nearly useless. He leaned over the steering wheel and tried to keep his smudgy gaze focused on the glowing white lines of the road and the taillights of the car ahead. What a night for a drive. Willie Nelson crooned `On the Road Again´, and Nick turned the radio up and cracked the driver’s side window to let in a stream of damp air and a couple of icy rain drops. He eased into the exit lane, glad to be off the Interstate. He’d spent some time as a long-distance trucker in his twenties, and this kind of night was the worst. He’d discovered years ago that cruising along some dark highway at dusk with the full moon lighting the road was one of life’s great pleasures. Unfortunately, crawling along with nothing to look at but the taillights of the car ahead while he wiped condensation off the inside of the windshield was depressing as hell.
Nick picked up Willie’s refrain just as he took the deep curve of the exit. Then, like a clip from a horror movie, a brunette in a pink coat appeared like a phantom through the curtain of rain, standing on the side of the road ready to step into the slippery street. She had to be crazy an escaped mental patient or maybe a runaway Nick didn’t have time to decide. He swerved and hit the horn with the heel of his palm. The blare set off the dormant adrenaline in his system. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lurch forward into the road. Oh God, if she wanted to kill herself why’d she have to throw herself in front of his truck? Damn. Fucking damn.
He heard a thud against the pickup’s sidewall. Was it a body or just a tree branch? The Dodge jumped the curve and sailed through the thin trees of the shoulder, then nosed down an embankment. Nick stood on the brake so hard he thought his leg would go through the floorboard. When the truck came to a stop, everything was quiet. Way too quiet. Even Willie had gone mute. The wipers were stuck in an upright position with wet leaves and bent branches jammed under them. Nick’s heartbeat threatened to burst his eardrums from the inside. His head had gone beyond throbbing to something nameless and twice as painful, and his sternum ached where the taut seat belt cut across his chest. At least the air bag hadn’t deployed. Nick let out a breath, expecting to hear sirens. Hadn’t there been a car right behind him when he pulled onto the exit ramp? Someone had to have seen what happened. He waited another eternal minute, then eased his right leg off the brake and squeezed the steering wheel to steady his hands. He’d been in accidents before a couple of bad ones, too when he was a teenager and being reckless with Dad’s Corvair was a game he played to get attention. He’d crumpled a lot of sheet metal in those days and even cracked an engine block, which earned him an ass whipping he’d sorely deserved. But he’d never hit a pedestrian, even one stupid enough to cross a highway exit ramp on a stormy night. After another deep breath, he pushed the driver’s door open and tumbled out, catching himself before he sank to his knees in the mud. The rain hit him again like a slap against his suddenly clammy skin. `Hey? Where are you? Can you hear me?´ His voice sounded distant to him, high pitched like it had when he was fourteen. He cleared his throat and directed his gaze beyond the truck’s back fender. `Miss? Are you hurt?´ He saw nothing but a tangle of broken branches strewn on a thick carpet of rotting leaves. The embankment was deep enough that his truck wouldn’t be immediately visible from the road, so if no one had seen him turn off the Interstate« A flash of headlights skimmed overhead in a lazy arc. Traffic seemed to be flowing normally. That meant there wasn’t a body lying in the road. If she was down here in the ditch, in the underbrush, he might not find her in the dark. `Miss? Hey, if you can hear me, make a sound so I can find you.´ Nick stepped away from the truck, pushing off the wet side panel. He thought of the flashlight in his toolbox and turned back toward the truck. Another brain cell fired up, and he reached into his back pocket for his cell phone. Not there. Damn. Had he dropped it at Miranda’s or left it in his glove compartment? Calm down and breathe, he told himself. Get back in the truck and find the damned phone. Nick obeyed his inner voice. He swung back into the cab, and there she was, occupying the passenger seat as if she’d been there the whole time. Nick’s heart ping-ponged between his lungs, and his fingers slipped off the wet doorframe. `You how’d you ?Śhe gave him a sheepish grin and patted the now damp driver’s seat. `I’ll explain everything. Just come in out of the rain.´ The rain. Jesus where in the hell had she come from? How had she gotten into the truck without him seeing her? Relief flooded his system, and the pain in his head backed down a step or two from excruciating. He climbed into the cab, only briefly considering that this woman still might be some kind of psycho. She looked perfectly normal, though. Cute, in fact. She had to be in her mid-twenties with curly brown hair that spilled down to the faux fur collar of her bubble-gum pink jacket. Green eyes flashed over a pert nose, and her cheeks held a healthy blush. Once he’d settled in his seat, she rubbed her pink-gloved hands together then stuck one out toward him in greeting. Nick stared, his muddled brain capturing one last disconcerting detail of her appearance. She was completely dry.
Chapter Two
Calliope let Nick gape at her for a minute. Her smile stayed in place even though the hopelessness of her task welled up inside her and threatened to become the first good cry she’d had in over a hundred years. When he finally took a breath, she sighed and braced herself for the interrogation. `Where the hell did you come from? Are you hurt? What were you doing trying to cross the exit ramp in the dark are you nuts? How did you get in my truck?Ít all came out in a tumble of faintly Southern-accented words. Callie hadn’t planned on a surprise entrance, but she couldn’t change that now, so she had to deal with his tirade and make the most of a bad situation. He clamped his lips shut on the last question, his ice-blue eyes nailing her with a hard look. Considering what she already knew about Nick Garrett the half-drenched, barely shaven, part-time carpenter, all-around handyman, loner, drifter, womanizer and enemy of true love those eyes were his only redeeming feature. They made up for a lot of shortcomings, she supposed, and certainly explained why he never lacked for female companionship, even though the string of broken hearts
he’d left during his decade-long war on commitment stretched from Berkeley to Bayonne. He blinked, breaking the hypnotic spell of those beguiling eyes. `Can you hear me? Are you in shock?Ćalliope nodded. `A little, but I’ll get over it.Ít was shocking indeed to consider how this man might possibly help her regain her status in the world of the Fae. Freya had said Nick Garrett had potential and that he could be reformed, but at the moment, Callie hadn’t the foggiest idea how she could accomplish such a miracle by herself. `I’ve got a cell phone here somewhere. I’ll call an ambulance.´ He reached across her lap toward the glove compartment, and Calliope dropped her hand. Very subtly, she moved her knees out of his way. `I’m not hurt.´ `No offense, miss, but there’s got to be something wrong with you if you’re out here in the dark walking along the highway in the rain. You’re going to get yourself killed.´ He gave her one of those looks again, an appraisal she supposed. She might have been amused had he not been the man who personified her punishment from Freya. Her curse. `Did your boyfriend dump you out here?´ The faint hint of sympathy in his voice warmed her. Could there beat a compassionate heart somewhere in that rugged, rain soaked chest? `No. Nothing like that. I’m right where I’m supposed to be, Nick. And so are you.´ `Well, of all the places in the world to be, this is the last one either of us ´ He stopped mid-ramble and squinted. `Have we met?´ `Just now.Ćalliope offered her hand again, but he ignored the gesture. `How do you know my name?´ The truth threatened to slip out, but Callie reminded herself that total honesty was part of her problem. Besides, right now, Nick Garrett didn’t seem as though he’d readily accept that his destiny rested in the hands of a Fae and that he’d been the subject of much debate among a host of creatures he likely did not now nor would ever believe existed. `I found your registration in the glove compartment.´ He swallowed that with a skeptical tilt of his head. `Nosy, aren’t you?Śhe nodded. And meddlesome, too. In fact, Nick didn’t know the half of it yet. `Sorry. I suppose that was rude of me.´ `Not as rude as jumping out in front of my truck.´ `I didn’t jump in front of your truck.´ He shrugged. `Okay. What’re you doing out here, then? You look a little too old to be a runaway.Ćalliope feigned indignation. What bothered her was not that he hadn’t mistaken her for a teenaged waif, since she knew quite well how good she looked for her age, but that he’d assumed she was some defenseless female, left to the elements by the carelessness of others. Part of the debate in her world had concerned Nick Garrett’s view of women in general as creatures who lived at the mercy of others. A runaway teenager, a dumped girlfriend, a hooker with a heart of gold these were the female stereotypes that populated his world, along with more malignant avatars such as the over-protective mother and the bored housewife looking for an afternoon diversion with a hired carpenter. The list made Calliope’s skin crawl. Nick Garrett knew only caricatures of women, and in order to change his world view, she feared she might have to become one of those caricatures. `Just how old do I look?´ `I didn’t say you looked old, just«not that young. Whatever. I’ll give you a ride somewhere, as soon as I find my phone and get my truck towed out of this ditch. Or I could call someone to pick you up.´ `I don’t need a ride.´ `You’re not going to go back out there and walk?´ `No, I’m going to get your truck out of this ditch. It’s more of a gully, by the way. And then I’m going with you back to your place.´ The last time Nick thought twice when a woman invited herself back to his apartment he’d been«he considered for a split second«he’d never thought twice when a woman invited herself back to his apartment. In most instances he could recall, the woman didn’t even have to do the inviting. Under other circumstances, this time would not have been any different. If he’d met her in a bar, in the supermarket checkout line, or just about anywhere else, she’d certainly have been his type. In the patchy light that filtered through the trees from the streetlights above them, he didn’t see any major flaws. Her green eyes had a soulful tint, and her half smile seemed genuine, if a little uncertain. In the fluffy coat, her shape was a mystery, but her jeans stretched tight over long, slim legs crossed at the ankle under his dashboard. If they’d been sitting at Farley’s, he’d have bought her a drink without question. Instead, he racked his brain for a polite way to refuse and get her on her way to wherever she thought she was going. `Ah«any other time I’m sure I’d like that, Miss«?´ `Calliope. You can call me Callie.´ `Calliope« That’s Greek, isn’t it?´ `Sometimes.Śhe shrugged. `Now let’s see about your truck, and we can get on with the business at hand.´ Business. Okay. That put things in perspective in a big hurry. She had a hell of a tactic for drumming up customers. `Ahh. As much fun as that sounds like«I’m not really« maybe some other time.Śhe rolled her eyes, put her hand up and shook her head. `Whoa, cowboy. Let’s back up a step here.´ Where had he heard that before? Hadn’t he said something similar to Miranda just this evening when she’d uttered the `L´ word? The phrase suddenly gave him a chill, and he squinted at his passenger in the darkness. Did she look at all familiar to him? `I’m not suggesting we sleep together, Nick.´ For the first time in his life, that came as a relief. `Good. I mean«I wasn’t, either.´ With that out of the way, the next step was to find a delicate way to suggest they part company before she went Lizzie Borden on him. `Right. As long as we have our boundaries established. Now, let’s take care of the truck so we can get to work.´ `Work?´ That still had an ominous ring to it. What work did she have in mind if she wasn’t a hooker a creative but slightly scary hooker? Where the hell was his cell phone? `I’ll explain everything. I promise.´ Nick opened his mouth, intent on demanding her explanation right now, but before the words came out, the truck bucked into motion. The pickup surged backward up the embankment, leaving a trail of broken branches in its wake. The shattered headlights glowed back to life, and in their halogen beams, those branches mended themselves soggy bark knitting, wet leaves snapping back into place. The two muddy furrows caused by the front tires seemed to fold in on themselves, healing in slow motion. The dash lights came on, even though he hadn’t touched the ignition key, and Willie sang backward over a clash of discordant notes. A scratch in the paint on the hood zippered itself into oblivion, and the bent wiper blades straightened and began swiping dead leaves into the darkness. Nick grabbed the door handle, prepared to fling himself out into the rain. With a final bone-rattling bump, the truck lurched over the curb and bounced onto the empty exit ramp. The engine roared to life, and some unseen force dragged Nick’s hands to ten and two on the wheel. His right foot found the brake pedal of its own accord, and next to him, Calliope rubbed her gloved hands together with a gleeful chuckle. `Let’s rock and roll, Nick!´ He stared at her. `Am I dead?´ `Of course not. But you will be if you don’t step on it. There’s a huge truck heading for the exit, so let’s go.´ Brilliant headlights reflecting in Nick’s rear view mirror blinded him temporarily. A semi’s horn blared, and Nick hit the gas, sending the Dodge down the ramp where he managed to stomp on the brake again just before the stop light at the intersection. `Right blinker, Nick,´ his passenger prompted. `We’re going home«such as it is.´ `Home.´ `Yep. Light’s green, let’s roll.Ćhapter Three Calliope felt no remorse at taking advantage of Nick’s natural confusion. Behind the bewildered squint he tossed her way as he steered his miraculously restored pickup back into town, she saw the coherent spark that would ignite into a curious flame as soon as he recovered from the shock of recent events. An ignorant man wouldn’t pose such a threat to the delicate balance of things. Freya had chosen Nick as Callie’s challenge, her curse, for a good reason. He understood his actions. He operated with purpose, though not necessarily conscious, malignant purpose. The dichotomy had Callie confused as well, but there wasn’t time now to contemplate just how much of Nick’s intrinsic badness was inherent and how much was the result of his environment. She could debate that with herself later. Right now, she figured she had another mile and a half before he snapped out of his obedient stupor. She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of her instincts or disappointed by his predictability
when he made the first deliberately wrong turn.
The Matchmakers Page 1
