Make Me a Match

The cat kneaded her claws and purred. If that wasn’t a resounding vote of confidence, what was?

“The cat’s deaf,” Jon said from the doorway.

Startled, Lora twirled to face him. “What?”

“Frosty is deaf. White cats with blue eyes often are. The white gene can induce withering of the inner ear. Frosty’s former owners couldn’t handle it, that’s why Victor adopted him.”

“Oh. She’s a him.”

“So spilling your guts to that cat is kind of pointless.”

Yikes! What had he heard her saying? Setting the cat down, she said, “How did you know I was spilling my guts, which I wasn’t, by the way. Were you eavesdropping?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a word. Listen, we have to talk. Come with me.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “We can talk right here.”

“No. Come outside.”

“It’s dark out there.”

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

She wanted to say, No, I’m afraid of you. She said nothing.

“We’ll turn on the porch light.”

Leaving the dogs at the door, they went into the backyard. Jon switched on a light and the overgrown path to a small structure at the far end of the yard glowed with soft light.

The structure turned out to be a garden gazebo, less than eight feet across with bench seats on three sides. It had probably been charming at one time, but the drizzly north coast weather had stripped it of most of the white paint and dry rot had tilted the foundation. Jon sat on one creaking bench and Lora sat on another.

While she waited for him to gather his thoughts, she admired the way the light hit his cheekbones and forehead and glinted off his hair. This was the north coast in April—no way his hair got sun-bleached around here unless he went to a tanning booth or had it artificially bleached and she just couldn’t see him in either scenario. That meant he’d moved here from somewhere sunny and not too long ago.

Somewhere sunny. Him in a bathing suit, bare back crusted with glittering sand, sunlight warming his big shoulders. Suntan oil, warm ocean breezes, margaritas in a thermos. Her beside him—

What!

It was this setting. Romantic, hidden, the perfect place for crazy fantasies.

Another scene unfolded in her head. In this small drama, she was alone with Jon, not on the beach, not in the blazing sun, but here in this gazebo, the fragrance of flowers mingling with the nearby smell of the sea, his eyes smoldering as he looked deep into her soul. She could just about feel his fingers touch her face and the heat of his mouth as it closed over hers—

Jon cleared his throat and the wild images flitted away.

Still, he said nothing.

“Not that this hasn’t been fascinating,” Lora said stiffly, now wanting to escape her imagination as much as a confrontation, “but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going to…well, bed.” She rose to her feet.

“Drop the act,” Jon said softly.

She sat back down. “What act?”

Now he stood. Pacing back and forth in small controlled steps, he shot her a laser-like glance. “I know what you’re up to.”

He did? “You do?”

“Yes. And I think it’s appalling.” The pacing stopped, the glance turned into a glare. “You’re trying to con Victor into a marriage.”

How did he know this? Lora racked her brain, trying to recall if she’d said anything to anyone about her plans for Dr. Reed and her mother. She hadn’t, she was sure of it. Wait a second, she wasn’t trying to con anyone, she was simply facilitating romance. There was a difference! Fired by righteous indignation, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He laughed. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. When I first saw you this morning, I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. You’ve been lying since the moment I met you. Boggle isn’t even your cat, is he? That’s why you didn’t know much about him. You just used him to get close to Victor and when you found out he wasn’t there, you grilled me about where he was. I tried calling you this afternoon—big surprise, the phone number you gave me turned out to be disconnected. You showed up at the hospital with flowers that no one at the clinic sent—I checked with all the employees so don’t bother denying it. Now you’ve wormed your way into Victor’s house.”

As there was more than a grain of truth in what he said, Lora went on the offensive. “I’m not the one holding a secret meeting out in the backyard,” she said. Not liking the disadvantage of her head being lower than his, she stood. She was still at a disadvantage as he was quite a bit taller than she but unless she climbed up on a bench, this was going to have to do.

“I’m not holding a secret meeting.”

“Then why are we hiding out here?”

“So we won’t disturb Victor.”

“At least I treat him like an adult.”

This remark earned her another glare. “Victor was my father’s best friend. He was there for Dad when Dad got so sick he could barely work. Dad wouldn’t tell me he was that sick, he didn’t want to worry me. That’s a laugh, isn’t it? Well, at any rate, I owe Victor Reed big time. He’s a decent, honest man. I won’t stand by and watch you seduce him for his money.”

Lora’s eyes grew wide. Had she heard him right? “Me seduce him?” she gasped. “Is that what you think?”

“Of course. You’re a gold digger. Admit it.”

Lora was momentarily speechless. “That’s…that’s crazy,” she finally sputtered. “He’s old enough to be my—”

“Father,” Jon said.

“Oh, this is ludicrous.”

“Is it? How about the coquettish way you acted in his hospital room?”

“I don’t even know how to act coquettish.”

“You were managing just fine. Batting your eyelashes, giggling…he may look old to you, but he’s a man, and a man, especially an older man, is susceptible to a pretty young woman coming on to him, taking him flowers, offering to care for him in his hour of need, cooking his favorite dinner. I don’t even want to know how you figured out what he liked to eat. Who did you pump for that information, his sister, his sons? No, don’t tell me. And, by the way, this meeting isn’t a secret. Tomorrow morning, I’ll tell Victor everything you say tonight, so I guess you’d better pack your bag and go home, the party is over.”

While she admired his loyalty and spunk, he was definitely endangering her plans and more to the point, the conclusion he had reached about her motives was downright insulting. If she told him the real reason she was interested in Victor Reed, would it make a difference? Sure, he might think slightly better of her, but would he really care if she was here for herself or for her mother? She doubted it. And what was this about money? Since when were small town veterinarians wealthy? She added, “Dr. Reed has money?”

“You know he does. Loads of it.”

“How?”

“Wise investments, his wife’s estate. Don’t act dumb with me, Lora.”

There was no denying that money was nice and that it would relieve a lot worries, but money had nothing to do with love. Besides, due to her own resourcefulness, they would soon have a tidy influx of cash. Why else did she have that greenhouse and why else had she been slaving away during every spare moment? Unsure how to handle this situation, she started out by saying, “You’re wrong about me.”

“I checked the facts—”

“Okay, not wrong about everything, just about my motives.”

“Then explain yourself.”

“No.”

He looked surprised. Running a hand through his hair, he regarded her steadily until he finally said, “No?”

“No. I don’t see any reason why I should explain myself to you. I’m exactly who I say I am. My name is Lora Gifford. I work with my mom and grandma at our family florist shop. Okay, I borrowed Boggle from my neighbor and I made up a phone number but that’s because you wouldn’t stop flirting with me and I’ve recently sworn off men.”

His brow narrowed. “I did not flirt with you,” he said.

“Oh, come off it. You wanted my phone number.”

“I told you, that’s office protocol.”

“Give me a break. I’ve been flirted with by real pros. I know when a man is coming on to me.”

He sank down onto the bench and stared up at her. “Lora Gifford, you’re either an amazingly talented dissembler or you’re endowed with thought processes I can’t begin to comprehend. I honestly don’t know which it is. I’m not sure it matters.”

She felt a smile threatening. She tried to nip it in the bud—it seemed an inappropriate time to smile—but she just couldn’t help herself. She was dying to tell him all about her plot to unite Dr. Reed and her mother and share a good laugh, but he’d sworn he’d tell Dr. Reed everything she said, so how could she? Everyone knew that once something like that was common knowledge, the game was as good as over, and she truly did like Victor Reed. In fact, she’d set her sights on him and nothing was going to ruin it.

Jon frowned at her smile.

She sat beside him. “I wouldn’t hurt or take advantage of Dr. Reed any more than you would,” she said. Sitting so close had been a miscalculation on her part. She hadn’t realized how short the benches were, how close they would be forced to sit, how his thigh and shoulder would brush against hers. She wanted to move away, but as she was trying to elicit his trust, suddenly jumping to her feet seemed counterproductive. She stayed put and tried to think clearly.

“I know my actions seem squirrely,” she said, now aware of his body heat permeating the two layers of cloth separating their skin. “I know I’ve lied to you, but I genuinely like Dr. Reed and I have no desire to take advantage of him in any way. I didn’t know he had money, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want his house or anything else.”

That little voice piped up in the back of her head again. How about his partner? Do you want him?

No! she told her libido.

“I wish I could believe you,” he said.

“Dr. Reed and I kind of connected at the hospital. He knew my dad. I’m not trying to seduce him, that’s silly. I just want to get to know him. Is that so hard to understand?”

“That’s all very nice,” he said, staring right into her eyes, “but it doesn’t explain why you came into the office to meet him in the first place, does it?”

“You’re not going to give an inch, are you?”

“Not when it concerns Victor.”

Standing abruptly, she said, “You have nothing to tell Dr. Reed about me except for some vague, unfounded suspicions and the fact that I commandeered a cat and was embarrassed to admit I brought the flowers myself as an excuse to meet him. Dr. Reed is paying me to stay here and I need the money to fix the van. So back off and leave me alone.”

“Then you are here for money.”

“It’s a job.”

“I’ll pay you what he said he’d pay you if you leave right now.”

“No, thanks, I actually like to work for my money. Why don’t you go back to your own place?”

“No way,” he said. Standing, he added, “This is a warning. I plan to stay here as long as you do. Someone has to look out for Victor’s interests. I’m going to watch every step you take.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re as noble as you say you are.”

Eyes flashing, he said, “I’m not noble, I just know when someone is not who they appear to be.”

She shook her head and walked back toward the house, aware she should be unnerved by his threat, feeling a shimmery thrill instead.

He was going to keep an eye on her, hmm? That should be interesting.

Okay, so she’d sworn off men.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t drive one remarkably irritating specimen a little crazy—strictly on his own terms—did it?

She added a swish to her walk.

Take that!

Chapter Three

“May I help you?”

Jon Woods closed the glass door behind him and turned to find an older woman with flyaway white hair and robin egg-blue eyes.

Smoothing her hands over a yellow apron emblazoned with the words Lora Dunes Florist, she tilted her head and regarded him. Seldom had he been studied with quite so diligent a gaze. He felt she was taking in and recording every inch of his six feet, every one of his one hundred and seventy-five pounds, every brownish hair on his head.

“I need flowers,” he said.

She smiled brilliantly. “You’ve come to the right place. Oh, unless you need them arranged because I’m all alone here and not very good at actually making fancy arrangements. Now, for that, young man, you need to see my daughter or better yet, my granddaughter. Lora is a whiz with flowers, it’s in her blood. Why she could make a handful of weeds look like a million bucks.” She glanced at her watch and added, “She should be back from midday deliveries in about an hour. I could fetch you some nice iced tea while you wait.…”

Her voice trailed off expectantly. He couldn’t help but smile. The woman had said everything so fast she was now a tad breathless.

He said, “I just want some flowers.”

“This way to the cooler,” she said over her shoulder. “Is this for your wife?”

“For a friend,” he said firmly.

The older woman stopped in front of a refrigerated glass case in which resided dozens and dozens of flowers of all shapes, colors, sizes. He’d never seen so many flowers in one place at one time. “Do you actually send these specific flowers all the way to Los Angeles?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. You want to send flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to come check out our book. We fax your order to a florist down there.”

He stared at the huge book she offered. No way was he going to flip through all of that. “How about a dozen white roses. Long stems. In a box,” he said.

“Excellent choice,” the woman said as she retrieved an order form.

As he took a platinum charge card out of his wallet, he said, “It must be nice working alongside your granddaughter.”

The woman studied the card for a second. “Lora is such a dear. And so pretty! It’s hard to believe she’s still unmarried. Of course, that former fiancé of hers is to blame.”

A fiancé? Hadn’t Lora mentioned she’d recently sworn off men? So, she’d been jilted, that’s why she was so touchy. Jilted by a young man, setting her sights on an older one, huh? At odds with the dating scene? Well she’d been mistaken if she thought she could take a shortcut to marriage by trapping Victor. He said, “Are you saying she doesn’t date?”

“Calvin broke her heart, but she’ll mend when the right man comes along. You watch!”

He said, “I think I may have seen your granddaughter around. She’s very pretty.” He finally noticed a name tag pinned to the woman’s apron. Ella.

“Looks just like her mother and her great-grandmother. The looks skipped my generation. I look like my grandfather.”

“You sell yourself short,” he said.

She all but blushed. “So, it must be a pretty special lady you’re sending these roses to. Your mother, maybe?” This innocent question was accompanied by a swift upward glance from the corners of her blue eyes.

Without smiling at the transparency of the conversation, he said, “No. Now, about Lora—”

“Maybe if I put in a good word, she’ll go out with you. After all, you’re not a teenager, are you?”

“Not for a long time now.”

“Good. Lora is a dear. So many plans…not that she isn’t getting ready to settle down. She would have married that no-account Calvin if he hadn’t left her like he did. I think a woman, even in this day and age of liberation, needs a man to take care of her. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

He’d obviously given the wrong answer. Ella made a deep sound in her throat before demanding, “Are you one of those men who think a woman should work all day as well as have the babies and care for the home?”

He tried a smile and a shrug and a noncommittal, “I suppose it depends on what the woman wants.”

“Humph—” she said, handing him back his credit card.

He got the distinct feeling he’d fallen from her graces, which meant she might clam up so he added, “Of course, I hope when I marry that my wife will be content with a more traditional role.” He almost choked on these words. Trina’s idea of cleaning a house was hiring a maid.

Warmth flooded the older woman’s smile. “That’s a beautiful jacket you’re wearing. The fabric is gorgeous. Cashmere? I bet you didn’t purchase it in our little town. It’s too pricey for Fern Glen.”

It was a pricey jacket. He’d bought it the winter before. He’d bought it because Trina liked him in good clothes.

Truth was, Trina liked all sorts of good things. They’d met when she brought her aging dog into the office because of a cough. Turned out the dog was allergic to cigarette smoke and Trina’s boyfriend smoked. So much for the boyfriend. Once Trina had made sure Jon didn’t have any habits that might annoy her pup, she’d whirled into his life like a tornado through a trailer park.

Not that he’d minded. Trina was a looker with a very suggestive walk and a sultry laugh. She’d introduced him to all her friends, invited him to countless Hollywood parties. She’d secured dozens of new patients for him, mostly women, all obsessed with their pets to one degree or another. He’d heard himself called the “vet to the stars,” a nickname that was good for business but made him squirm. He was learning to live with it, however, and there was no doubt that life with Trina was exhilarating. He’d been about to suggest she move in with him when his dad died.

“Must take a good job to afford such classy clothes,” Ella said.

He regarded her with new misgivings. Why was she going on like this? Was it money she was after or was it a boyfriend for her granddaughter? Or both? Had he been right about Lora’s motives?

For an instant he was disappointed. He didn’t want to be right. There was something so fresh and breezy about Lora Gifford—he’d never really met anyone quite like her. Open one moment, closed the next, fabricating details right before his eyes, biting her lip as she apparently fought her conscience when telling them.

And her looks. She was an eyeful but not in the Trina way. Lora was something of a waif, casual about her appearance, scrubbed clean and tantalizingly wholesome, but mismatched and dwarfed within her sweater and jeans.

And yet alluring, somehow.

As a matter of fact, out in that gazebo, he’d had to remind himself he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. There had been a couple of times when she’d looked at him and he’d felt his heart skip around. Was she right, had he flirted with her in his office without even knowing he was doing so?

Tonight he would call Trina and insist she venture north for a visit. He was under no illusion that she would find this remote coastline any more invigorating than he did, but if she cared for him, she would surely find time to come brighten his volunteer exile, wouldn’t she?

Back to Lora. What would make her zero in on Victor? She’d never met the man before yesterday, so why him? Was it that friend of hers, the one with the Irish Setter? Had the friend gone on and on about the friendly, kind, rich old vet? But what drove Lora to implement such a plan?

She must need money. He looked around the threadbare shop and suddenly thought he understood. He said, “This is a nice place you have.”

“It belonged to my daughter and her husband until the bum had a midlife crisis and left my Angela holding the bag,” Ella said. She pushed across the form so he could fill in the delivery details. Lowering her voice, she confided, “But Lora assured us everything will be fine, she’ll make sure the shop survives. Lora has a plan.”

“A plan?”

Ella smiled. “A plan. She won’t discuss it, it’s a big secret, but she says if things work out right, everything will be okay.”

There it was, more or less in writing. Lora’s plan to guarantee the survival of her family’s shop was simple: marry Victor.

“So what do you do for a living?” Ella asked.

“I’m a vet.”

“My brother was in the army, fought in Korea. The war didn’t kill him, but a two pack a day habit did.”

“No, I mean a doctor—”

She interrupted him with a squeal. “A doctor? How wonderful.”

“Well, of sorts. Actually—”

She interrupted him again. “How about taking out a contract to have fresh flowers delivered to your office every week? Lots of professionals do it. Flowers make your practice look very affluent.”

“Sure,” he said, surprising himself. Maybe he was tired of trying to get a word in edgewise. Maybe he thought that by taking out this contract, he’d stay connected and could keep his eye on things even after Lora moved out. If Lora moved out.

Hell, maybe he was just nuts.

Once he’d agreed, the wheels of commerce turned amazingly fast, and he left a little bit later having agreed to a year of flowers. He knew he’d have to pay for them out of his own pocket—how could he ask Victor to support such a silly thing?

As he slid into his Porsche, he reviewed what he’d learned about Lora. Some guy named Calvin had jilted her, she’d promised her family she’d take care of them, the shop was foundering.

Why did it feel so hollow to be so right?

That night he offered to do the dishes. Lora had made vegetable lasagna with a béchamel sauce for dinner and Victor was right—she could cook. She’d carted all the food into the den so Victor wouldn’t have to get out of his recliner, set the low coffee table with fresh pink flowers she said she’d found while poking around in Victor’s weed patch and entertained the older man with elaborate stories that all seemed to revolve around her mother, Angela, who was coming to weed the next day.

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