The Rebel Cowboy’s Quadruplets. Tina LeonardЧитать онлайн книгу.
Bridesmaids Creek than from one of the town’s favorite daughters?
He glanced toward the unmatchmaking service, seeing that next door to Monsieur Unmatchmaker’s dove-gray-painted shop was a pink store with a cheery window and painted scrolling letters that read, “Madame Matchmaker. Premier Matchmaking Service. Where love comes true.”
He laughed out loud, startling some passersby. Suddenly he understood why Ty had worked so hard to sell him on this town: the whole place was set up on gigs. Sleights of hand. Fairy tales. From the rumored special steer with excellent aim to The Wedding Diner with the fortune-teller owner to the matchmaking–unmatchmaking rivals— everybody had a gig.
So did Mackenzie, now that he thought about it. Her parents had run a successful haunted house for years, and, according to the talkative fellow at the feed store, parents from miles around had brought their very young kiddies to enjoy the place. No real spooky stuff was allowed. Just down-home bobbing-for-apples fun. Puppet shows, piñatas, a parade with characters.
Until a local murder near Mackenzie’s place had spooked folks. That year, attendance had gone way down. So far down they’d had to close the haunted house. They’d been virtually bankrupted, or so the story went.
“You still here?” Mackenzie asked, shaking him out of his reverie.
He snapped his gaze to hers. “Yeah. Your errand was fast.”
Mackenzie nodded. “I just wanted to check in on Monsieur Lafleur. He had gall bladder surgery recently.”
“Rough.”
“It was rough.” She started walking and he followed, more out of a desire to be with her than to hear about Mr. Lafleur’s funky gall bladder. “It was gangrenous and they couldn’t get to it laparoscopically, so they had to do it the old-fashioned way. Not much fun.”
He felt a little sympathy for Mr. Lafleur after all.
“But his wife is wonderful and she took good care of him. They bicker like crazy, but they’ve been married for fifty years and love blooms in spite of the bickering.” She looked up at him, and Justin felt something hit him somewhere near his gall bladder—not his heart—that felt suspiciously like something bordering on attraction.
All this talk of wonky gall bladders was stirring up his desire to eat. That was all it was. He glanced toward The Wedding Diner, wondering if it was safe to go inside and eat without prognostications of marital bliss being preached at him.
“Madame Lafleur runs the matchmaking service,” Mackenzie said, snapping his attention back to her and away from the people filing inside the diner.
“The Lafleurs run rival businesses?”
“Complementary businesses. Some people want love, and some people want relationships ended. Monsieur Lafleur doesn’t get as many clients as his wife, of course, so he teaches French at the high school and tutors privately in his shop.”
“If the divorce rate is around fifty percent, how is it that Monsieur Lafleur has to supplement with teaching and tutoring and his wife doesn’t?”
“Because this is Bridesmaids Creek. When matchmaking occurs here—and it occurs often—the relationships tend to stick. Madame Lafleur takes great pride in her ability to bring people together who are perfect soul mates.”
He idly wondered if Mackenzie had utilized the services of Madame Lafleur. If so, she didn’t seem bothered by the irony of her marriage not lasting. He looked away for a moment, trying to shake off the charm of the town. His rational side said it was just all so ludicrous, and the first chance he got he was going to tell Ty that he’d sent him to a place where people were clearly just one car short of a crazy train.
“Can I buy you a snack? Seems a shame not to take my boss to get a soda and a slice of pie, or whatever is served in The Wedding Diner.”
“Sure.” She looked at him curiously. “You realize you’ll be setting yourself up for the gossip mill.”
“Putting myself right in the line of fire.” He opened the door for her. “After you.”
Mackenzie and Justin were greeted warmly by the proprietress of The Wedding Diner, an amply shaped woman with a big smile.
“Jane Chatham,” Mackenzie said, “I’d like to introduce you to Justin Morant. He’s been helping out at my place.”
Jane’s smile widened as she swept them over to a bright white booth inside the diner. “Welcome, Justin. Those four darlings running you off your boots over there?”
He removed his hat and took the seat she indicated. “It’s a nice place.”
“Sure it is.” Jane laughed. She looked at Mackenzie with a fond smile. “I’m sure you’re happy for the help.”
“You have no idea.”
Justin felt a slow warmth steal up the back of his neck. It was just a job like any job. He rubbed his knee surreptitiously under the table, glad it wasn’t aching much today. It wouldn’t matter if Mackenzie had twelve kids—he was glad for the work.
And the chance to work for himself. Under a blue sky with no one talking to him.
“Still thinking about selling the place?” Jane asked Mackenzie, and Justin listened hard in spite of himself.
“We’ll see what happens,” Mackenzie murmured. “In the meantime, can we talk you out of some of that delicious pie I smell?” She looked at Justin, and he felt a tiny zap hit him around his chest cavity again. Really weird, because he’d never been much of a heartburn sufferer.
He told himself he’d grab some antacids later.
“You order what you like,” Mackenzie told him, “but I’m not about to pass up that blackberry pie.”
“I’ll have a slice.”
“Two, please,” Mackenzie said, and Jane ambled off with a pleased nod.
“You didn’t mention you were selling your ranch,” Justin said, so startled by the news he forgot he’d intended to mind his own business.
She nodded. “It would probably be best. It’s hard for me to keep up with on my own, to be honest, and since I’m not working, I need to keep my savings for my daughters.” She smiled. “Selling the Hanging H would mean college educations and a few other things comfortably. I’d like to not stay awake at night worrying about money.”
He cleared his throat. “Your ex doesn’t pay any child support?”
She shook her head. “Hard to squeeze blood out of a turnip, especially a turnip that stays on the move to avoid child support.”
Ouch. Justin sipped the coffee Jane brought over, glad for the dark steaming brew. He then busied himself with the flaky, rich blackberry pie, delicious enough to draw a sigh of pleasure from him if he weren’t so caught by Mackenzie’s story.
Her plans made total sense. A woman with four brand-new babies, who’d been born with some challenges, was going to need cash. A lot of cash. She was being wise, had clearly given her situation a lot of thought. It was what he’d do were he in her boots.
Seemed a shame to sell a family home, though. He thought about his childhood home, and how much it had hurt when it was gone. He and his rowdy brothers had grown up there, enjoyed the benefits of living and working on a family ranch. When his father had taken up with another woman, scandalizing the town, his mother had booted him out of the house and sold the family ranch—her right as it was the home she’d grown up in. Though his father had tried to make amends, Dana Morant was made of sterner stuff. She’d taken her boys to Montana to be near her sister, and life had changed forever. Mainly for the better but always with the lingering shadows of what might have been. Jensen Morant now lived on a thousand acres