Jill Limber - The 15 Lb. Matchmaker

Now what was she supposed to do? Her car was wrecked, her father had cancelled her credit cards, and her Aunt Rosie was off backpacking somewhere in New York state.

Jolie struggled to think positively and come up with a solution to her problem. Collision coverage would take care of the car, but the deductible she’d had to pay the mechanic to order parts and start work had left her with a measly fifteen dollars.

She refused to call her father in Seattle for help. He’d predicted this trip would be a disaster and forbidden her to go. She’d left anyway, disobeying him for the first time in her life.

Most children rebelled against their parents when they were in their midteens. Jolie had waited until she was almost twenty-five years old.

She should’ve stood up to her father a lot sooner. Because she always went along with whatever he wanted just to keep the peace, she’d almost ended up married to a man she didn’t love.

How could she prove to herself she could be independent if she ran to her father for help at the first sign of trouble? Besides, she was still furious with him for cancelling her credit cards to try to keep her from leaving.

She had called New York and left a message for Aunt Rosie that she’d been delayed, but Rosie wasn’t due back from her trip until Sunday.

Rosie’s newest man must be the outdoorsy type. She tried to picture her chic aunt in a pair of boots and a backpack, but couldn’t come up with the image.

Jolie propped the heels of her Ferragamo flats on her suitcase and traced the outline of the state on the plastic place mat. She had no option but to stay right here in Billings and wait for the car.

She needed a job.

Jolie had planned to look for employment when she returned from her visit with her aunt, but it looked like her first work experience would be right here.

Watching the waitress stop at the next table to pour coffee, Jolie figured she could manage to wait tables. That would pay enough to cover her expenses until her car was ready. True, she had never served food, but she had planned parties and supervised caterers for her father often enough.

“More coffee, hon?” The waitress’s name tag identified her as Helen.

“No, thanks. But I do need a job. Are there any openings here?”

Helen laughed, then her eyes narrowed and slid over Jolie’s designer clothes, lingering on her gold jewelry. “Harry hasn’t hired anybody in over fifteen years. The only reason I got the job is ’cause I’m his sister-in-law.”

So much for the idea of waiting tables, Jolie thought.

Helen still hovered over her, staring. “What’s your name?”

“Jolie Carleton.”

Helen nodded. “Howdy, Jolie. Might be we could find something for you close by. You ever wait tables?”

“No.” She’d never had a job.

Helen raised one thinly plucked eyebrow. “Been a short-order cook?”

“No.” Jolie felt her spirits drop another notch.

“Any cashier experience?”

Only from the customer’s side. “No.”

“Well, honey, what have you done?”

By now Jolie figured Helen wouldn’t be impressed with a list of her Junior League projects. “I have a degree in child development. Maybe I could work at a preschool.”

Helen gave her a speculating look. “You ever actually take care of kids, Jolie?”

Finally she could say yes to something. “I’ve taken care of my cousin’s children.”

“How many?” she asked, her voice skeptical.

“Three.”

“How old?”

Why would Helen care how old her cousin’s children were? Jolie felt protective of the children, probably because her cousin was like a barn cat. She had her babies and after a month or two paid no attention to them, resuming her ski trips and visits to friends in Europe.

Reluctantly she said, “Five, three, and a baby.” Jolie hoped this was leading somewhere.

Helen stared for another disconcerting moment, nodded as if she’d come to some kind of decision, then turned abruptly and walked away. Jolie watched her cross the café to the gorgeous cowboy.

Helen and the cowboy held a whispered conversation, glancing frequently back at Jolie. Now, what was that all about?

Knowing she was the subject of their conversation, Jolie didn’t know where to look. She stared down at the newspaper want ads, folded up on the edge of the table.

The toes of two hand-tooled leather cowboy boots appeared in her line of vision. The faint scent of horse and hay curled up to her.

She looked up, pinned in place by the cowboy’s incredible blue eyes. He was no longer smiling, and she could see lines of fatigue on his face. He looked older than she had first thought.

“Ms. Carleton?” His deep voice rolled over her like a fog across Puget Sound.

Startled, Jolie nodded and swallowed. “Yes?”

Griff took a minute to take in the whole package. What the heck was a beautiful woman dressed like her doing in Harry’s Diner? he wondered.

“My name’s Griff Price. I have a proposition for you.”

He didn’t miss the way her big brown eyes widened at his choice of words, and in spite of his foul mood he suppressed a smile.

“How do you do, Mr. Price?” Her speech was careful and polite, her expression wary.

Sleek and sophisticated, she reminded him of a Thoroughbred horse. Generations of carefully chosen bloodlines came together to produce a woman this magnificent. Good bone structure, sleek hair, clear eyes, fine skin and good muscle tone didn’t happen by accident.

He was pretty good at sizing up women. He’d learned the hard way. She didn’t look like a baby-sitter.

She looked like trouble.

But Griff was desperate. He had just acquired a nephew he hadn’t even known existed, and his housekeeper, Margie, was leaving to take care of her sick sister for at least two weeks.

“Helen tells me you’ve had experience taking care of children.” She nodded and continued to stare at him with those big chocolate-brown eyes.

It was hard to believe, looking at her. She had city and society written all over her, and he wanted no part of either. She had the look of his ex-wife. Expensive. Deirdre would never willingly take a job as a caregiver. She had been a taker, not a giver.

Women like Ms. Carleton didn’t belong in Montana. This country was harsh, and it would chew you up and spit you out if you weren’t as tough as old saddle leather.

Glancing nervously at Helen, who hovered two booths away, she cleared her throat and said, “Yes.”

Griff barely remembered his question and realized he’d been staring at her. He also noticed Helen had hung around to listen, wiping up an already immaculate tabletop. Gossip was first on the menu at Harry’s.

Griff turned his attention back to Ms. Carleton. “Helen also mentioned you’re looking for work.”

He rubbed at his temple, trying to dispel the headache that had blindsided him on the way to town.

Looking uneasy, she glanced at Helen again, then back to him. Finally she nodded, looking as jumpy as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

He’d bet a week’s wages she was running away from something. Women like her always left when things got tough. He knew that from experience. First his mother had run, then his wife.

But, he reminded himself grimly as he watched the way her small smooth hand toyed nervously with a gold chain necklace, he didn’t have much choice. And Helen had said she had cared for her cousin’s children. Unlike his wife, she must have a sense of family, and to Griff that meant something.

“I need a live-in baby-sitter for a few weeks.” He watched her absorb that information.

Deirdre had run off two years ago with his brother. Until three weeks ago when Social Services had called about his nephew, Riley, he’d known nothing about the baby, or Deirdre and his brother’s deaths.